


In the Midst of a Whirlwind

by catpoop



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon Compliant, Character Development, Dermatillomania (its keith), Galaxy Garrison, Insecurity, Jealousy, Korean Keith (Voltron), M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, No Smut, Omega Keith (Voltron), Orphan Keith (Voltron), Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing a Bed, Tickle Fights, keiths still underage u nasty, not yet at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9517868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catpoop/pseuds/catpoop
Summary: When you're 15 and your body has betrayed you, trying to become the next prodigy pilot should pale to something insignificant.or else: How Keith tries to find his place in a society that holds nothing but disdain for himUPDATE: please dont read this its shit and i want to Die





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy c:
> 
> characters and whatnot dont belong to me  
> crappy plot _does_ belong to me
> 
> UPDATE: @jibblyart drew art for [ch.10](http://jibblyart.tumblr.com/post/159558796216/from-my-favorite-sheith-fic-atm-in-the-midst-of) and [ch.11](http://jibblyart.tumblr.com/post/159779999771/this-slow-burn-is-killing-me-in-the-midst-of-a)!!! im gonna die from happiness

The first time Keith officially comes into contact with the complicated world of alpha-beta-omega is in his government-endorsed sex ed programme in primary school. But before that, he doesn’t fail to notice the weird smells emanating from his peers nearly a decade older, or the nice matron of the orphanage (and the less nicer staff who don’t enjoy caring for snotty brats), or the strange man who lurks at the corner of the street whenever Mari fetches the group of kids from school (five-year-old Keith included) and leads them, mother duck-style, down the road and across the zebra crossing and past the man who looks at them, towards to the orphanage. Keith looks back at him with curious eyes and scrunches his nose up at the overpowering scent. 

He asks Mari about the _strange man_ and she pauses in her conversation with some of the older kids to peer at Keith.

“Don’t worry about him; he’ll go away if you leave him alone.”

“But why does he smell weird – is it because like Richie he got into a fight with Missus – uhh…” Keith trails off, trying to piece together the complicated name and failing. “Because he pushed someone down the stairs and broke their arm and –”

“Maybe,” Mari nods sagely with a wisdom that Keith imagines only twenty-year-olds can muster up. He leaves the matter alone when she focuses her attention on another kid. He remembers how Richie had bristled at Mrs. Something-or-other’s accusatory tone and gotten _a bit_ mad, emotions flaring up more than they usually do. Keith had covered his nose with both hands and scurried up the staircase and out of the way. He hopes the strange man won’t break _his_ arm when they pass by him the next day. He makes a note to avert his eyes.

\-----

Keith is ten when he attends his first sex ed class, apprehensive after having heard the sniggers from the other group who are just vacating the classroom in front of him. A good ten minutes in and he is staring in bewilderment at the mess of worksheets that have been handed out, completely lost as to why his peers had found the whole thing entertaining. He’s still trying to get his head around the weird symbols that are apparently akin to gender – but also _not_ gender, because that’s about what's in his pants. He doesn’t really get it.

He’s further confused when the teacher instructs them on all the unusual bodily changes that will happen to them several years later, which to Keith is a century away. He doodles on the worksheet instead of listening, idly looking at the diagram of _something_ next to his hand, above which is titled ‘Reproductive System’. Whatever. Of course, his current apathy doesn’t stop him from poking at his limp dick in curiosity back at the orphanage. It doesn’t do anything strange. Maybe in a few years time, Keith thinks, remembering the teacher’s words. 

The rest of the classroom is in a similar state of rapidly-splintering concentration, some laughing raucously at the diagrams they’d been given, some playing an impromptu game of hangman, and some flat-out unconscious on the table. The only group that appeared to be listening sinks into deep discussion about their older siblings and Keith hears snippets of their conversation, a little wistful.

“ – and mum went absolutely crazy when –”

“Same! I would _hate_ to be an –”

“ – _omega_.”

That’s the one that looks like a really badly-drawn ‘O’, where they didn’t even bother joining up the two halves, Keith thinks. He doesn’t really know anything else about omegas apart from that, inattentive as he was in class.

Which he regrets half a day later, when he stares down at the basic fill-in-the-blanks worksheet supposed to be handed in the next day. He ends up having to tug at Mari’s shirtsleeve after dinner and ask her for help, nodding and kicking his legs as she explains to him in basic terms what exactly the differences between the different presentations entail.

Alpha: leader; big; something weird about the genitals that Mari carefully avoids mentioning  
Beta: the calm one … less pheromones. Keith struggles with spelling that word.  
Omega: something about heat. And ‘suppressors’. Keith sighs inwardly as he makes notes of all the different characteristics that Mari lists out.

She doesn’t point out the answers for him as he’d wished she would do, so it takes Keith another twenty minutes of deliberation and doodling to slowly fill in the worksheet. He goes to bed that night thinking of all the weird things that could happen to his genitals and grabs his dick in fright.

\-----

Unfortunately for the group of ten-year-olds, the sex ed class lasts longer than one lesson – or two. Keith forces himself to listen to the teacher drone on about stuff that’ll happen to teenagers – not _them_ , so he’s not sure why they need to be paying attention.

“What do you think you’ll be, Keith?” Matt from across the table asks.

To be honest, Keith isn’t at all hyped up for the great reveal like some of his peers are, eagerly waiting for what’s to come in about six years, or less, in some cases. He just wants to keep drawing neat solar systems on his scraps of paper (he’s finally got Jupiter’s clouds looking somewhat accurate) and awaiting a time where he doesn’t have to clamber onto the orphanage hoverbike parked beside the main building and can instead drive one of his own. He’s had enough of being shooed off the old silver model used mainly for routine trips to the shops. But all of this is irrelevant to the question, so he answers with a dismissive shrug.

“Dunno.”

“Hopefully the one where nothing weird happens to my dick.” He adds, after a pause, pleased to see Matt’s face crinkle up in amusement.

“Haha – not my mum. She’s always going on about how great it would be for one of us to be an alpha.”

Keith nods, already losing interest in the conversation. His pen moves in tiny circles, outlining the shape of Io.

He doesn’t realise the significance of being an alpha until Matt lists off a bunch of names on his fingers, some of which are world leaders, though most are famous football players, because that’s all he cares about.

“See, if you wanna _do_ anything, you need to be an alpha.”

“Isn’t that kind of unfair?”

Matt shrugs. “Maybe. So you better cross your fingers and your toes hard enough that you get to be an alpha.”

Keith mirrors his uncertainty, lifting his own shoulders and setting the topic aside in favour of poking holes in his paper with his pencil. They can be the asteroids in the Kuiper belt.

And he doesn’t give the alpha-beta-omega dilemma any further thought, until he finds out, one day, that the grizzly and weathered-looking head of the Galaxy Garrison is also an alpha. He stares at the webpage on his cheap cracked-up tablet with something akin to shock, but not really, because he’d heard Matt’s spiel about how the great and the overachieving are always, unanimously, alpha. Keith reads through Administrator Larsson’s speech on how leading an organisation with such potential for rocketing Earth light-years into the future was only made possible by the innate tiers of respect built into society, and the one-track determination that only an alpha can command in his followers. Several of the scientists who aided the developmental process are betas, but whatever.

Suddenly, Keith wonders if being alpha will guarantee him a spot in the Garrison. He doesn’t have the brains to be some beta scientist, but …

Maybe sheer luck will guide him into a life of space exploration, and he’ll be able to study Jupiter’s atmosphere up close and get his sketch _perfect_.

Mrs. Zaleski or one of the other matrons gives his door a sharp rap, and Keith tosses his tablet aside, jumping up to turn the lights off. In the past, he’d considered simply piling a shirt against the sliver between door and floor to stop the light from peeking through, but then the door had been yanked open in a random check. He dutifully clambers back into bed, room lit only by the shimmers up in the sky and the orangey lights propped up on ugly metal structures outside. The tablet is carefully set on his bedside table (one too many hasty tosses had cost it its screen) and Keith burrows his head into his pillow, wanting to read through the Galaxy Garrison website for the nth time despite not understanding half of the complicated terminology. But then sleep tugs at his eyelids and presses kisses to his cheeks in the form of reassurance, assuring him that the Garrison isn’t going to disappear overnight.

Still, he regrets not staying up just that bit later the next morning, because _no electronics_ at breakfast, or when he’s brushing his teeth, or brought to school, so it takes him half a day before he can scour the webpages again, and read over the application forms he’s waiting to fill in, in five years time.

There are all these different complicated fields of science, though what Keith is interested in is the piloted missions. He clicks on the 3D simulation of the latest flight to Ganymede and remains sat on the bed, hunched over goblin-like, until someone from the room next door bangs against the paper-thin wall and Keith jolts in shock, looking around to see nothing out of the ordinary. He stretches his shoulders out and flops down onto the bed.

\-----

It takes a few years, but finally the waiting game is over, and Keith submits his application a day after he turns fifteen, no skills to his name except for the science subjects mandatory for anyone wanting to be a part of the Garrison. He enviously recalls the schoolmates a mere year older than him, already zooming off and out of school on newly-acquired hoverbikes. The models are not as flashy and kitted out as the ones Keith drools over in the online catalogues, but they’re still hoverbikes.

And the reply from the Garrison can’t come sooner, arriving in his inbox after a stressful day of being teased at school for preferring to sit by himself at lunch. Though he _did_ escalate the situation by smacking the guy across the face with his used spoon, and elbow and scratch his way out of a headlock.

Keith throws his pillow against his bedroom wall in frustration a few times until one of the older kids on the same floor as him yanks open his door and yells at him.

“Shut up!”

_Whatever_. Keith sulks and curls up on his bed with his trusty, worn-out tablet. He _could_ use his meagre savings (from the weekly pocket money and that brief favour he’d done for Nick, hiding him in his room to avoid the post-curfew patrols) to get a new one, but a hoverbike is his top priority now. He idly runs a fingernail over the uneven terrain of scratches on his screen as he waits for the tablet to power on.

His deadpan countenance slowly, unexpectedly, morphs into one of shock when he sees what exactly the addition to his inbox is.

[Notification of Admission – Gala…] – Galaxy Garrison Cadet Program Administration

_Holy shit!_ Keith stabs at the screen with a furious finger and feels his jaw drop open at the text onscreen. He skims over the payment details, and the ID and online registration section, and the rules and regulations, including the part about how cadets under sixteen aren’t allowed to operate any of the machinery without special permission, instead reading over that one magical line.

‘Please report to Garrison Headquarters at the following address on the 26th of August, 20XX.’

August. Which is five months away. Keith hugs his tablet to his chest and rolls around on the tiny bed in excitement, imagining finally being able to leave this tiny room he’s long outgrown, and the not-too-oppressive system, and…

It’s not that Keith dislikes the orphanage, but there’s something about watching the people around him slowly disappearing into adoptive families that leaves a grimy feeling on the back of his teeth.

He rereads the email a couple more times, until it finally sinks in that, _okay_ , he might not be able to leap into any cockpits the moment he gets there. Not until he’s been there for a year. But he can probably sneak into one of them. Probably.

Good thing the Garrison is government-subsidised, or else the cost of getting in would be somewhere in the ten-thousand-percent more than what Keith has. He’ll still have to get a job to pay for the fee, though, the moment he legs it out of the orphanage.

At dinner, someone asks him why his face looks weird and he doesn’t deign to respond. Not when all he can think about is a future far brighter than the glow lighting up his cheeks and eyes and crinkling up his mouth in a tiny, self-satisfied smile.

\-----

Keith leaves the orphanage on the morning of the 26th with a small suitcase beside him, filled with all his belongings from his decade-long stay behind the genial façade of the building he’s just exited, and with all the necessary documentation he’d been given after informing the orphanage administration about leaving. And no doubt they’d thought he’d be one of those classic problematic cases who stay, lurking in the orphanage until they’re eighteen and free to leave. Keith smirks. He might not have been adopted by anyone, but the Garrison had accepted him – a far greater achievement.

He takes a three hour trip out into the desert, on an array of public transport, until he gets to a stop with a Garrison-designated bus and clambers on, skirting around the suitcases in the aisles and sitting down in an empty seat, next to a teen with a shock of blonde hair messy enough to rival his own. Thankfully, they don’t try to make excited conversation with Keith, unlike half the bus. He’s excited, sure, but not in the way that manifests itself as endless words slipping over his tongue and leaving him looking like some giddy idiot. 

The bus stops and lets them off in front of a hulking, metallic, beast of a compound, and Keith nearly gets a mouthful of sand and dust when he gapes a little too widely. The bus zooms off back down the road and under the archway topped with a row of flags and Keith watches it disappear back out into the flat terrain of the desert, tripping over his feet when the rest of the group starts to walk forwards and into the complex.

They’re greeted by an Instructor Hedrick who briefly lectures the new group of cadets on what to expect at the Garrison, after which the experience soon devolves into something that feels far too similar to starting a new school year. Keith stares at the wad of forms he has to fill in (a bunch of signatures, mostly. He forges the parental ones) or keep for reference, whatever that means. He scoots backwards onto his bed while his roommate complains about the size of the room. It’s larger than his bedroom at the orphanage, so Keith doesn’t respond, instead setting aside the forms and unpacking his suitcase, enjoying the spacious and modern-looking cabinets. His belongings look a little lonely in them, not that he stores many in the cabinets – his knife in its sheath is strapped to the inside of his jacket, and his tablet is slid under his pillow when his roommate isn’t looking.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to introduce myself,” says the teen he’s sharing a room with. “I’m Tom.”

Keith blinks and nods, only remembering to reply likewise after a moment.

“Why’re you here?” The question, accusing in its phrasing but not in tone, strikes a chord with Keith.

“I want to be a pilot. Like for the Kerberos mission.”

The mission is due to launch next year, and there’s no way some unskilled skinny fifteen year old like him can get to that sort of position in a year’s time, but whatever. He can have his dreams.

“Uhuh? Well I’m here for their engineering courses. Heard they’re the best in the country if you want to specialise in astronautical engineering.”

Keith nods again. He picks up a copy of the course list he’d already submitted and looks at it, noting that there is in fact something named ‘Astronautical Engineering’ in the subjects to choose from. He’d ticked the box next to ‘Astronaut’, and then below it, ‘Pilot’.

His roommate blinks at the sudden lapse in conversation as Keith scrutinises the forms in such a way that makes him feel as if he’s being actively ignored.

\-----

In the first two weeks, Keith learns several things about life that he’d never known previously.

1) Sharing a room with someone gets annoying. Even if said room is far larger than his previous abode, and he gets an entire fancy writing desk to do his homework on.

2) He doesn’t have to worry about his tablet getting stolen, because as one cadet had very loudly announced, “What’s that piece of crap you’re holding? It’d be worth more if I shattered it and sold the bits.” He now has to worry about it being smashed, though.

3) Apparently, brandishing a dagger when someone threatens to smash your tablet isn’t a Good Idea. Keith gets a talking-to within three days of arriving at the Garrison. 

4) Being a pilot involves more than just learning how to operate the controls. There’s also physical training, operating vehicles, learning survival skills, and a whole other slew of knowledge that Keith struggles to remember. At least he doesn’t need to get too deep into the hard sciences, because there are the astrophysics and astrochemistry nerds for that.

5) Flight Officer Takashi Shirogane is not a day past eighteen, and already confirmed as pilot for the upcoming Kerberos mission. He is also the model student for all of their simulation run-throughs, demonstrating how to score a perfect score and clambering out of the cockpit with an abashed look on his face, palm clasped to his nape as the instructor points out all of his achievements and all of the basic manoeuvres the cadets have messed up on.

6) Keith wants to become Takashi Shirogane. Not in the sense that he wants to steal his face and identity, but – maybe just that part of his identity where it says ‘Stellar prodigy, top Garrison pilot, and promising asset for future space explorations’.

7) The Garrison is split into two sections: one for the children (the cadets) to run willy-nilly, and the other for the serious, grown-up rocket launches and developmental laboratories. Shirogane has access to both, despite being eighteen, because he’s just that much better than all of them combined.

Keith grits his teeth at his failure after failure after failure in the flight simulators (though to be honest, he’s only been in them once), until finally finding the anger to skive off the class on the finer details of cargo delivery in space to sneak off to the flight deck. It’s unoccupied, luckily, and Keith hops in without a second thought, pressing the right buttons to activate the machine and watching as a starry spacescape fills the black windscreen in front of him. He’s already memorised the controls after watching Shirogane navigate the imaginary planet’s atmosphere and take the most textbook route down to the ground, as well as watching half his class grapple with the foreign levers and switches amidst an incoherent frenzied screaming. 

He just has to listen to the soothing robotic voice of the ships’ AI, and pay attention to the scene in front of him – easy. He chooses the single-person setting, and the interfaces flit from the screens next to the vacant seats behind him to the ones at his elbow. The doors shut with a satisfying whoosh and Keith focuses on the virtual reality in front of him, already imagining he’s en route to Iapetus for dirt samples or whatnot. He follows the route the AI sets for him, avoiding being drawn in by Saturn’s gravitational forces as the pockmarked surface of his destination slowly creeps onscreen.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t crash head-first into one of the steep craters like last time, and maybe it’s because there isn’t an engineer or a communications specialist to distract him. He feels the machine he’s in judder to a halt in a pseudo-landing and wipes his clammy hands on his pants.

[SIMULATION COMPLETE] 

The doors behind him slide open to reveal the same empty expanse of room and Keith checks the time, a quiet sense of delight filling his belly when he realises he’ll be able to get in at least two more simulations before he’s supposed to be at his next class – on the operation of space exploration vehicles, which he doesn’t want to miss.

Keith is halfway through another simulation – this time to one of Jupiter’s moons, the relatively small Ananke – when the doors burst open and he jolts in his seat, his surprise sending the craft careering off in entirely the wrong direction and towards the minefield of satellites orbiting Jupiter. He braces for impact even as Shirogane strides in, all menacing-looking with his undercut and muscled frame.

“What are you doing here?”

Keith’s hands slide limply from the controls. “Practising…?”

“That would be commendable if you were a senior cadet, but –” Shirogane peers at the lack of badges on his uniform, “you’re clearly a first-year, so you really shouldn’t be in here without supervision.”

Keith wants to say something about how Shirogane could act as supervision, but he knows better than that, instead obediently getting up and skulking out of the simulator. He speeds up into a sprint when he hears Shirogane call out. He’d nearly gotten his dagger confiscated; he doesn’t need his flight privileges disappearing down the drain too.

\-----

Despite the Shirogane-scare, Keith sneaks out once more for some extra practise, and it pays off. Suddenly, the Commander’s praising him, and he beams. Being promoted from creepy dagger-wielding kid to promising young pilot definitely feels good. Getting back into the now-familiar pilot’s seat feels even better, and he doesn’t pick even one fight with his team-members sitting behind him. Keith basks in the post-adrenaline rush as he exits the simulator, feeling a satisfaction manifest that had last appeared when he’d gone for ice-cream after training with his school’s cross country team. He’s so out of it that he doesn’t notice Shirogane looking down at his class from the upper deck, or even when he passes them by as they’re leaving the room. Okay, so Keith _might’ve_ noticed the figure a head taller than him walk by, but he barely realises that it’s Shirogane. Or that the man comes to a halt a few metres behind him to talk to Commander Iverson.

And with this new identity of star-pupil comes something Keith would never have expected – fans. Or well, fan, singular. This brown-haired guy with skinny eyebrows suddenly appears at his side one day. And sticks around for a few days after that, until Keith expressly states his opinion on slobbering fans.

“Hey, Keith – you’re Keith, right? Like superstar of the class and all that?”

Keith gives the slightest nod.

“Teach me your secrets.” He leans in with a conspiratorial whisper. “Sen – pai.”

Keith turns on his heel. Of course, that doesn’t keep Eyebrows out of his personal space, but at least the guy doesn’t try to follow him into his dormitory room. He shuts the door just in time to hear his roommate’s voice.

“Hey, Shir – uhh – Flight Officer Shirogane was asking for you.” Tom still looks a little shocked from what must have been Shirogane personally visiting their dorm room.

“Holy shit!” Keith hears from outside the door.

He yanks it open to find Eyebrows in very close proximity to him, innocently whistling as though he hadn’t been caught eavesdropping.

“Hey Keith~”

“Leave me alone.”

Eyebrows slinks away with a pout, leaving Keith to track down Shirogane. Hopefully he’s in his office, and not out on stroll somewhere in this maze of a sprawling complex. Thankfully, Takashi Shirogane is right where he’s supposed to be, and Keith raps on his door and lets himself in, but not without first fixing a sharp scowl on his face.

“Ah, Cadet Keith Geum.” 

He hesitates on his surname, as everyone does. Shirogane is sitting upright in his wheeled chair and in front of a tiny desk, looking very out-of-place, as though he’d rather be one of the cadets, and in one of the cadet dorms. Ignoring Keith’s scowl, he continues.

“Relax, I’m not here to tell you off or anything.”

Keith relaxes, if only minutely.

“I guess it’s no secret that you’re a natural pilot. And I have to admit sneaking into the flight sims isn’t the best idea. But your dedication to improving your skills even outside of class is impressive, so I managed to get you a few sessions a week on the flight sim. After asking Commander Iverson, of course.”

Keith’s mouth is ajar. “Oh. Thanks.”

“I’ll have to be there during said sessions, of course, and they can’t clash with your classes. Otherwise, I hope you use these sessions efficiently, and maybe, who knows, we’ll be looking at a registered pilot for the Garrison in a year? Two years?”

Shirogane cracks a smile that leaves Keith feeling part unsettled, part buoyant as he floats his way back to his room in a daze. He doesn’t even clam up when Tom asked him about what happened in the meeting.

To imitate Eyebrows’ words from previously: _‘Holy shit.’_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> o shit! my boy keith is ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for all the comments + kudos + subs u guys r great
> 
> also dont expect the other chapters to come out so rapidly its just that i sat down and accidentally wrote 3000 words today

Keith receives an email from Shirogane later in the evening with a timetable of all the training sessions and he lets out a weird burble that his roommate terms ‘a girlish squeal of excitement’. It’s not, and he’s wrong. 

7pm the day after tomorrow can’t come sooner, because for once he’ll be doing something other than lounging about in his room and doing homework. Well, he could probably make use of the gym, or the pool, or the punching bags he wants to go beat up, but he’s been too lazy to go and register for a special card that’ll allow him access to those areas outside of class time. Of course, he then sees Shirogane sweating up a storm while pummelling a punching bag with his bare fists (entirely unawares of how half of the class is joining him to stare at the sight) and immediately signs up for one of those magic cards. It can’t hurt to learn how to fight, and how to wield that dagger of his, even if it’s not good etiquette to slash and stab at the equipment. 

Eventually, the day after tomorrow arrives, and Keith finds himself loitering in the mess hall a quarter of an hour before he’s supposed to meet Shirogane, staring down at the remains of his dinner and idly tapping his spoon against the dish. He’d finished eating at least twenty minutes ago, but the dorms are a ten-minute walk away from the main complex, so he might as well just stay here until it ticks over to seven o’clock. He gets his tablet out, checking out part-time jobs in the neighbouring city a short bus-trip away and hoverbikes he might actually be able to afford. Luckily, no one bothers him, and he can relax in relative peace in his corner of the hall. 

Organising a run on the flight-sim so close to dinner might not have been a good idea for someone with a weaker stomach, but Keith barely feels weighed down when he clambers into the pilot’s seat. This simulator is slightly smaller than the one his class is instructed to use and mounted in the corner of a room a floor below the gym and training arenas.

“Iverson said we can use the older one, because the newer simulators are more in demand.” Shirogane points at the metal rungs welded underneath the simulator’s doors. “You’ll have to climb up to get in, but it’s basically the same.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Keith clambers up the metal steps while Shirogane tiptoes and presses a button beside the door, summoning a control panel that allows the interior of the machine to be revealed with a whoosh. Keith steps inside, letting Shirogane configure the settings while he sits down and inspects the levers in front of him.

They look familiar, and does the program that start up, so Keith hopes he won’t make a fool of himself in front of Shirogane by messing up the controls.

He hears the man’s voice a moment before the doors close. “You can start the sim now; I’ll be outside doing some marking – I can’t believe Instructor Ryu is making me grade all these papers…”

Oh yeah – Shirogane’s some sort of assistant teacher, though not in any of Keith’s classes, and he has to wonder how this _teenager_ a mere three years older than him is the paragon of responsibility. But he gives the matter no more thought, because he’d been given the green light. Keith picks the Ananke mission again instead of the ones he’s not attempted before because of the thrill that runs down his spine when he’s trying to navigate his way out from the Martian outpost and through the asteroid belt. Not to mention the mess of debris that’s orbiting Jupiter – and Ananke being one slightly larger bit of debris out of numerous. There’s nothing to fear, after all; he’s not going to lose an engine if he scrapes up against a satellite and then end up dying a slow death orbiting Jupiter for all eternity, so Keith powers up the rocket boosters and zooms recklessly down the path the AI has marked out for him, dodging asteroids and angling his ship just so to land on Ananke’s surface with a thud, all of his acceleration channelling itself into energy that nearly knocks his ship back up into space.

The doors slide open as they do after every simulation, and Keith turns around to see Shirogane standing on the platform above the metal steps and looking at him with an arched eyebrow.

“If this were real life, you’d probably have crashed and burned sixty percent of the time.”

“Don’t you have marking to do?” Keith snaps, and the man chuckles in response. 

“I do, don’t I?” Shirogane steps back down and disappears out of sight as Keith closes the doors again.

Despite the voice in his head that’s yapping like an angry Chihuahua at Shirogane’s comment on his flying, Keith takes the next sim slower, gritting his teeth whenever he has to curve past an asteroid and trying not to gun the throttle. It makes for a less bumpy ride, sure, but it feels so tedious and routine after a few tries that Keith almost imagines he’s driving a school bus for primary school kids, or something. At least the scenery is nice. As well as the sensations upon liftoff and touchdown.

Shirogane nods approvingly from where he’s sat in front of a bunch of student papers when Keith emerges to take a break.

“That was good. You’re trying to ensure a safe landing, first and foremost. If you wanna go zoom about in a minefield of asteroids, sure, but only when you can afford your own spacecraft.”

“I’m not some cargo pilot,” Keith retorts.

“But you’re not a fighter pilot either,” Shirogane reminds him. “You should go join the military for that.”

Keith might not be able to zoom about recklessly in the flight sims, but he has another option. He takes the first bus out of the Garrison come Saturday, watching the dust being kicked-up outside as the compound fades out of view and the sparse buildings on the outskirts of the nearest city creep into sight.

With five years’ worth of savings tucked deep inside his jacket, Keith leaps off the bus, looking around for the nearest used-hoverbike stall. A holographic directory, starkly contrasting the wind-scuffed buildings around it and the cracked-up asphalt road Keith is standing on, tells him there’s a shop five minutes down the road. It takes him two to get there.

After turning over nearly everything he owns (he wonders briefly how much the dagger could fetch, before banishing the thought because _that dagger is the only clue to his past_ ), he leaves the shop one hoverbike richer. It’s an old, metallic red model, but it works fine when Keith tries it out, and from what he knows about hoverbikes, it’s not in dire need of maintenance, unlike the newer silver model the smiling woman behind the counter tries to sell him for a similar price. He snatches the fake license she offers him, though, and she counts out his cash, humming in satisfaction.

He wheels his new vehicle out onto the road in front of the shop, helmet tucked under one arm and license slipped into his pocket. Too bad the only fuel cell suppliers are out here – he’ll have to make the trip out every time he’s running low. Keith doubts the Garrison will appreciate him stealing fuel from under their noses.

And with the bike bought, Keith has a new priority – finding a job. But he puts that off in favour of switching on the engine of his new purchase, retracting the wheels with a press of a button as the blades power up, and zooming back down the road and towards the Garrison. Because he’s fifteen, and he’s impulsive, which he regrets, just so slightly.

Though he doesn’t regret the feeling of the wind on his nape, or feeling the machine thrum below him, or watching the Garrison flip upside down when he gets enough lift to hang safely from the sky.

When not in use, his bike is tucked into a rocky alcove a sprint away from the Garrison entrance, hopefully out of sight to all zero (0) of the travellers passing through the desert. The Garrison sometimes uses the empty expanse of desert for survival training, or test flights and rover-driving, but that’s on the other side, behind a section of fence. Keith’s bike should be fine.

And so he repeats this once, then twice, then thrice, in the next few days, using every break to go off into the desert and test his bike to its limits. It helps him to calm down, somewhat, as Shirogane doesn’t need to remind him to swerve less or yank the levers a little gentler (“Careful, cadet, you’re gonna break those off one day”). For all his supposed greatness and intimidating exterior, Keith realises Shirogane _is_ hiding remnants of an awkward, fed-up teenager behind his façade, when he misses a session after staying out too late on his hoverbike (Shirogane has the slightest pout on his face when they bump into each other in the corridor less than an hour before curfew). And when he slithers out of the simulator one day to see the man half-asleep, staring at the guidebook he should’ve been reading, eyelids half-closed. He startles when Keith loudly jumps onto the ground from the simulator platform. _And_ when he takes a seat behind Keith in the sim to advise him on how to most efficiently navigate past Saturn’s rings and drop into a steady orbit around the gas giant, despite having said a few sessions ago that he’s just there to supervise – not to coach or give preferential treatment to any cadet.

Maybe if Keith were more trusting, or more ready to pour his heart out to anyone willing to listen, he would’ve asked Shirogane on how an underage and unlicensed hoverbike owner should go about owning a hoverbike. But he doesn’t, because he’s not stupid, and so he nearly gets caught on the road out, puttering along on a few used-up fuel cells with no excuse or back-up for his current predicament. Keith swerves out of sight (down a cliff’s edge) when a Garrison vehicle zooms by.

He charges up the fuel cells only after promising the storeowner that he’ll work there part-time to pay back the fuel. Keith settles on three days a week and the man shrugs in agreement, probably hoping for some free child labour in exchange for a meagre amount of fuel.

“I expect proper wages, okay?” He snarls, and the man smiles wryly at the sight.

“Sure, sure – pay back that hydrogen first, then we can sort out a deal.” 

Keith helps with storing the delivered goods in the back of the shop for a good hour and a half before the man lets him leave – but he can’t complain, because otherwise his bike’s fuel cells will be confiscated until he can pay up.

Mr. Fuckface Uglypants scratches his chin for a few moments before agreeing to pay Keith a few dollars below minimum wage in the future, and he scrunches his nose up, stalking out of the shop with his fully-charged bike in tow.

Between breaking his back carrying cargo boxes down at the gas station, training on the sim every now and then, and joyriding on his bike out in the desert, Keith has little time for anything else. Which includes homework. He looks at his score on the recent procedural knowledge quiz and sighs, stacking the paper on top of the growing pile on his desk and running off to the training arena to thoroughly beat up a punching bag or two.

Keith changes into a suitable outfit and makes his way to the gymnasium, coming to a halt in front of the sliding doors when he sees Shirogane leisurely kicking the life out of some inanimate dummy.

He averts his eyes when Shirogane looks up, hoping to release his anger as quickly and painlessly as possible into one of the punching bags and leave before Shirogane can chastise him on one thing or another as though he has any authority to do so.

He gets in a few good punches and one kick that throws him off-balance before he feels someone approach him from behind. And because it’s Keith’s lucky day, he turns around to find wonder boy Shirogane looking down at him.

“What.”

Several times in Keith’s life, people have told him that his attitude is as palatable as feet soaked in hot dog water, and that if he wants to get anywhere in life, he should probably do something about it. But a life’s worth of advice doesn’t stop Keith from glaring at Shirogane with all the anger he can muster up.

Shirogane takes a step back.

“No need to look so mad, Geum. Uh – Keith – can I call you Keith?”

Keith shrugs a single shoulder.

“I – just wanted to say you could probably get those punches and kicks to be pretty deadly if you tidied up your technique a little.”

Keith didn’t realise he even _had_ a technique; he’s just trying to beat the stuffing out of the bag as though it had stolen his lunch money, or teased him about having no parents, or tried to make him the butt of a prank. His _technique_ has served him well in past; Keith grins just thinking about it.

Shirogane settles his weight on the balls of his feet and looks expectantly at Keith who stares back.

“What?”

“Throw a few punches? I won’t laugh or anything.”

Keith lashes his arms out violently, hating the prickling feeling on the back of his neck from being watched. He gets so agitated in his movements that Shirogane has to grip his shoulders to steady him when he nearly falls over.

“Steady…” Keith bounces out of his grip. “Well, I guess you need to get your balance sorted first. Your punches definitely have enough speed and power, though.”

This isn’t what Keith came here for. In fact, it’s exactly the opposite. He doesn’t need another mentor or teacher or chastising adult to remind him just what he’s lacking in, and Shirogane nearly takes another step back at the ugly scowl on his face.

“I don’t need your help, Shirogane!”

“Call me Shiro,” he offers.

“Shiro.” Keith blinks, surprised by the sudden suggestion.

“Just trying to help a fellow cadet – a cadet,” Shiro shrugs, “These sorts of skills are useful to have mastered.”

Keith narrows his eyes, circling around to the other side of the bag so it blocks his view of Shiro.

The man emphatically shrugs again. “Okay, whatever; don’t be hesitant to ask if you need help.”

He leaves to his own corner of the room and Keith starts up his flurry of punches. If he settles on his feet a little steadier than before, though, that’s none of Shiro’s business.

\-----

Keith likes to think his flying skills are developing nicely, as is his hoverbike-driving ability and punching (he’s not falling over nearly as much now) and cargo-box stacking and unpacking. But for some reason, the Garrison always finds something to complain about, and Keith runs a tired hand through his unkempt hair when he’s called up to the faculty offices once again.

Apparently he’s always out past curfew – but that’s because he’s got a _job_ , and he’s never in the boring classes (because they’re useless), and he’s always talking back to the instructors. Keith scratches his cheek as he stares off into the distance, and it only takes a minute of his blank staring for the lecture to stop and the instructor to dismiss him with a sigh. 

With that problem solved, Keith has a choice of several activities to occupy the rest of his evening – showing a punching bag who’s boss while hoping Shiro will stop by to give him some advice, exploring the vast expanse of desert on his hoverbike, or _yuck_ , doing homework.

He’s already running past the Garrison’s main gate before the thought finishes itself. The guards used to suspiciously ask him what he was doing outside post-sundown, but now that he’s gone out several dozen times, they barely bat an eye at his lanky sprinting form.

Keith hops onto his hoverbike, taking the familiar route alongside the canyon, turning left at the hillock, and whooshing a metre above the flat emptiness of the desert until the land slopes upwards and he spots that discarded wooden cabin sitting alone on the horizon under the bridge of Orion’s Belt. He’d thought it eerie after first discovering it a week ago, but a few circuits inside had revealed nothing of threat, even as Keith gripped his dagger with whitening fingers. There are three main rooms – a bedroom with only an empty bed frame, a bathroom pitiful with its lonely toilet and sink (someone had torn the bathtub out, for some reason), and the living room surprisingly well-kitted out. Well, there’s a solar-powered stove crackling merrily in the corner. And a table. And what _could_ be called a chair if you dismantled it and sat on the pieces. Keith had dismantled the chair and thrown the pieces outside.

He’s about a hundred metres away from the cabin, its outline getting gradually larger, when he starts feeling a little faint. Not exactly _faint_ , because that’s the sort of thing attributed to Victorian women. Maybe more of a heaviness of the limbs and static fizzling in his brain and weakening of his grip that has him falling forwards and accidentally pressing further down on the accelerator.

It takes Keith a split second to realise that if he keeps going at this speed, _he’s going to crash_. He pulls his frame upright, lifts his feet from the accelerator, and grips the brakes like he’s trying to throttle that instructor from earlier. His hoverbike comes to a juddering halt a metre from the cabin, the momentum launching Keith from his bike and onto the sandy ground with a painful thump. Good thing he’d thrown those chair bits out the other side – getting impaled on splinters isn’t going to brighten up his evening. 

He nearly forgets that strange sensation from before as he extends the wheels on his bike, turns the engine off, and sets his helmet on the seat. Then that weird ache from before returns, and against better judgement, Keith limps into the house, setting himself down in front of the perpetually-lit stove and lulling himself into a daze watching the holographic flames flicker. He really should be making the trip back to the Garrison by now, Keith tells himself, but the soothing warmth from the fake fire dulls the weird discomfort in his belly and he pitches sideways onto the hard unforgiving ground, falling unconscious in a position he’s really going to regret the next morning. 

And come next morning, there is indeed a crick in Keith’s neck. But it’s barely significant compared to the deafening headache throbbing in his temples and the pulsating throb in his lower back.

_Ugh._

Keith should’ve immediately recognised the symptoms, but it’s not until he unconsciously struggles to get all his layers off (the desert is cold at night, but right now he’s so _hot_ ) and feels the disgustingly damp patch between his legs that it clicks.

_Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck._

If he’s not wrong, he’d just – No. Keith doesn’t want to think about it. He rolls onto his back and stares listlessly up at the wooden ceiling, wondering if he’ll be magically transported back to his warm and comfortable bed if he thinks hard enough about it. Someone should’ve invented a machine like that by now – all the ancient fuel and food issues have been solved, so why not invent a teleporter? Keith feels his dagger cool against his chest (it never seems to be warmed by his body temperature) and wonders if he can stab the stupid omega genes out of himself.

Keith drifts back into sleep clutching his dagger in one hand and resting his head on his balled-up clothes.

\-----

He wakes when a heavy set of footsteps reverberate through the floorboards he’s sleeping on, and Keith cracks his eyes open (they feel stitched closed, as though after a decade-long nap) to see a familiar pair of boots. Well, they’re familiar because they’re Garrison-regulation boots, but when he turns his head, he sees Shiro peering down at him in concern.

“Ugh – G’away, I’m –”

Shiro completely ignores him. “Okay, we’re gonna need to get you to the sickbay, but first … first, why’s there a bike outside? And what’s this house?”

“How’d you find me?” Keith mumbles into his jacket.

“Don’t think I haven’t been around you for long enough to recognise your scent. That’s why they sent me out to fetch you – not last night though, strangely enough –” Shiro continues to ramble and talk to himself as he slings Keith over his shoulder, conspicuously breathing through his mouth. Keith dangles heavily halfway down his back, feeling a little lightheaded. He doesn’t appreciate the wake-up call.

“Oi, Keith, c’mon – what’s that bike doing?” He gives Keith’s back a quick pat. “Do you want me to leave it here?”

 _That_ forces some life into Keith. He flails his arms about. “What, no! Take it back to that – uhh – no, lemme drive it myself.”

He squirms in Shiro’s grip even as the man tightens his hold on him.

“Watch it, Geum. You’re not in any condition to be operating that right now. Not to mention you’re underage. Just tell me where you want to return it to.”

Keith pouts, but allows himself to be manhandled onto Shiro’s much-nicer bike, watching in a daze as the man secures the two bikes together, returns his clothes to him in a bundle (Keith hugs it to his chest), and forces his helmet onto his head. Keith leans against Shiro’s back and tries not to fall asleep from the smooth ride – much less turbulent than his own. He’s lucid enough to loop his arms around the man’s midsection, but who knows whether he’ll fall off if he decides to fall asleep.

Shiro retraces Keith’s route from last night, nearly returning them to the Garrison before Keith pokes at his neck and gestures to the out-of-sight alcove a distance away.

“In there. That’s where I put my bike.”

“That’s not the safest place for an unregistered hoverbike,” Shiro comments, but positions Keith’s bike in its proper place regardless, throwing the camouflage tarp puddled on the ground over the vehicle. Keith chooses to fall asleep a moment later. Shiro can carry him back into the Garrison – whatever. Not to mention being in such close proximity to an alpha (he’d only really noticed after presenting. Before, individual scents were almost irrelevant) is fraying his nerves. Keith just wants to roll into bed and not emerge for a decade. Or just until this stupid condition wears off. His eyelids droop and he sags in Shiro’s grip, the menacing façade of the Galaxy Garrison the last thing he sees before he passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes okay I know lance and keith r fighter class pilots but I don’t get it – galaxy garrison focuses on space exploration/travel. Why would they need fighter pilots if they don’t even know if there r aliens out there for them to fight?  
> maybe im missing something lmao
> 
> tag urself im the 'his attitude is as palatable as feet soaked in hot dog water'


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my child... :'c

When Keith next wakes up, he’s in the Garrison medbay. But not the main wing that he’d been in after getting whacked in the jaw with a wrench by an idiot classmate – this looks like a private room. It’s a rather sad little private room, around the size of his dorm and cluttered with shelves full of unmarked boxes and large canisters of _something_. Keith would have thought it a storage room if not for the bed he’s currently tucked into.

He shifts, trying to get comfortable before realising it’s not the bed that had woken him from his sleep, but the stupid sensations in his lower half. It feels like something’s trying to claw its way out of his insides and he clamps his legs together, curling up into a ball just as someone raps on the door and lets themselves in. Keith pokes his head out from under the blanket.

It’s a nurse, judging by her uniform, and Shiro behind, peeking in over her shoulder, the lower half of his face obscured by a black fabric mask – similar to the type distributed all over Africa once the factories grew a little out of control and toxic smog smothered the continent.

“Cadet Geum. Good to see you’ve woken. Sorry about the accommodations – we’ve not had an omega here since … since a while back. Once your heat is over we’ll put you on suppressants, but for now, please stay here until you’re back to normal.” She points at a door to Keith’s right. “Bathroom is through there, and we’ll bring you three meals a day. Now, Officer Shirogane wants to come in, if that’s all right with you?”

Keith nods, surprised they’d even let an alpha in – what about the whole weak, defenceless omega trope?

The nurse exits the room as Shiro enters, and the man sits down on one of two chairs stacked up beside the small table. He fidgets with his mask and taps his fingers on his thigh.

“Uhh, Keith, I hope you’re cool with me being an alpha, and that – um – this won’t change our relationship?”

Keith blinks, snuggling further into the blanket.

“I mean – I don’t see you as less of a person or something. Just because you’re an omega.”

Keith flinches at that, turning around to face the wall. A shudder runs down his spine when he inhales and breathes in something more than just the sharp sterile taste of the medbay. Something warm and heavy that eases the tenseness in his limbs and makes him relax into the mattress. He whips around when the scent intensifies to find Shiro sitting closer to him, having shuffled his chair forwards.

“What?” Keith narrows his eyes, but it just makes him want to close them all the way and fall asleep. He doesn’t imagine he’s looking very intimidating right now.

“If you want me to leave, just say.” The man awkwardly scratches at his short hair. “But I wanted to let you know that your secret’s safe with me – I didn’t tell them about the hoverbike, or the house. And that I’m still up for those training sessions when your heat’s over.”

Keith isn’t sure what training sessions he’s referring to – fighting or flying? Or both? He’s pretty sure Shiro has overstepped his bounds doing all this, but he doesn’t focus on that.

“Why?” He mumbles. “Why not tell them? Stupid golden boy.”

Shiro doesn’t react to the insult. “Hmm? Well – you’re not _technically_ going to endanger anyone driving that. Except for yourself. And, I dunno, that house looks like a nice place to relax. Could get more furniture though.”

None of those were actual logical excuses for his behaviour. Keith cocks his head, wondering if Shiro’s being affected by the pheromones. Why else would he suddenly become so laid-back about all the rules Keith’s breaking? He scoots backwards, pressing himself fully against the wall and tugging the blanket over his head. He doesn’t need Shiro to hear the whimper trying to claw its way out of his throat. Shiro’s not going into rut or anything (because the mask he’s wearing is stopping Keith’s scent from leaking through), but his olfactory presence is getting a little overpowering. Maybe because of Keith’s currently hypersensitive nose. He presses his face into the pillow and whimpers, barely hearing Shiro’s sigh.

“I’ll take that as a sign to leave, then. See you in a week, cadet.”

Keith doesn’t emerge from within the blanket until he hears the door click shut. A week? Now that he thinks about it, he cannot at all remember how long these things are supposed to last for – he’d never paid attention in class. Good thing his backpack from the night before is sitting at the foot of his bed. He leans over to grab it, rifling through the bag to find all of his belongings inside. And his dagger sitting at the bottom – despite Shiro having to pry it from his hands last night. Maybe he _can_ trust the man a little. Keith doesn’t put the dagger under his pillow as he usually does, and instead reaches in to grab his tablet.

He finds out that heats usually last for four to six days and that he should be expecting a combination of nausea, lethargy, and _extreme horniness_ just as the migraine starts up again. Keith rubs his temples and groans. Six days?! It’s better than an entire week, he supposes, but still. And four times a year, as well. Keith forces his eyes closed and wills himself to go to sleep, not wanting to acknowledge the disgusting feeling in his lower half. Maybe when he wakes up it’ll all be a dream and he’ll magically present as an alpha or beta and begin his ascent through the Garrison ranks.

Keith wakes up within an hour, in discomfort from the prickling under his skin and the sudden heat flaring out from his core. He yanks the blanket aside, scrubbing at his face with clammy hands. A cold shower sounds perfect right about now.

Keith extricates himself from the almost-magnetic pull of the bed, taking a moment to remember which door leads to the bathroom before stumbling over. Its interior is pristine, as to be expected, all the unbranded bottles and products still in their plastic packaging. The packages are a little yellowed with age, though. The Garrison really hasn’t seen an omega in a long time. 

He strips, stumbling under the freezing spray and flinching so violently he nearly knocks himself out on the glass doors and leaves a shattered mess on the tiled floor. Okay, maybe that was a little too cold. Keith stretches an arm out to switch the shower to hot, washing the goosebumps off his skin.

He reluctantly leaves the shower after half an hour, feeling refreshed and towelling off his hair. He could stand under that warm spray for days, feeling the water splattering on his back with just the right amount of impact to leave his muscles relaxed. Not like the orphanage facilities, he thinks, with their annoying tendency to run cold if he showered too late, or slow to a pitiful dribble if too many kids were showering at the same time. Keith almost steps back into the shower when he sees the no-doubt grimy outfit he’d worn through a tumble in the sand and a badly-timed presentation hanging from the back of the door. 

Maybe he could just hang out naked in the bathroom for the next week. And then he spots the packages on the metal shelf beside the sink – what look like uncomfortable pyjamas folded with razor-sharp creases into perfect rectangles. Keith pulls the clothing from its package, lip quirking in appreciation when he feels the light cottony fabric. The Garrison might not have seen an omega for years, but their facilities are still well-kept.

 _And why?_ he wonders, pulling the slightly too-large outfit on. Omegas are supposed to make up a quarter of the population (Keith thinks of what he’d learnt about omegas a short while ago) – so a quarter of his already-presented classmates should too be omegas. Keith shrugs. Maybe he’s just really really unlucky. 

He gets back into bed just as that annoying sensation from before starts up again – it had been dimmed by the warm shower, but is now returning in full force. Keith foregoes videogames on his tablet to curl up in the blankets, setting the chair Shiro had been sitting on embarrassingly close to the edge of his bed. The scent helps, a little.

Where before odours had been little more than warnings (“Watch out Keith, Anne just puked behind you!”) or signs of food (he remembers following his nose to a pizza party he wasn’t invited to), now, Keith can almost conjure up Shiro’s image from the traces of scent he’s left behind. He sticks his glowing face out from his cocoon and imagines nestling a cheek against Shiro’s palm.

He quickly succumbs to unconsciousness, thinking momentarily that maybe being an omega isn’t all that bad after all, not when he can fall asleep like this feeling more relaxed than he can remember. Maybe not having the sharp outline of his dagger under his pillow helped, but regardless.

And then the second day of his heat comes, and Keith thinks, _Nevermind_.

\-----

The ordeal lasts for only four days, fortunately, but that still equals to ninety-six hours of being cooped up in a pair of rooms with nothing to do but eat the Garrison regulation meals (pretty tasty, actually), practise his punches and kicks against the mattress, and squirm about in painful heat-induced delirium for three days. Keith sighs, a shiver wracking his frame as he’s finally allowed to leave the private ward – not without first getting a head-to-toe spray of pheromone nullifiers to get rid of any lingering scents, of course. He nearly makes a beeline to his beloved hoverbike before the nurse stops him with a firm grip.

“Cadet Geum. Good to see you’ve recovered nicely.” She hands him a labelled box. “Take these, and follow the instructions included inside. The first intramuscular injection is in a month, and you’ll have to repeat monthly. If you have any problems, just come ask.”

Keith peers at the lightweight box in his palm, labelled ‘Suppressants’, along with a load of small print he isn’t bothered to read. The nurse gives him a slightly reassuring smile and he frowns, walking away and out of the medbay. His hoverbike takes priority.

It isn’t until Keith bumps into Shiro on his way back inside the Garrison that he forces himself to acknowledge the whole omega dealio. 

“Hey, Keith! You feeling better?” At Keith’s nod, he continues. “How’re the suppressants – are they working? It’s best to keep this whole thing under wraps; the Garrison doesn’t really appreciate –”

“I don’t want to think about it, Shiro. And I haven’t tried them yet.”

He tries to shoulder his way past the older teen with a pout, but Shiro stops him.

“Sorry – I didn’t mean to bring it up.” Shiro’s eyes awkwardly flick down to his feet for a second. “See you in the flight sim after dinner.”

That brightens Keith’s mood up a little, but then he enters his room and sees his roommate splayed out on his bed, blasting some unfamiliar music.

“Hey! How’s that omega thing of yours – it’s gotta suck like shit, right?” 

Keith grits his teeth. “How’d you know about that?”

“Oh, the instructors were told why you were skipping four days.”

The instructors knowing doesn’t explain how Tom knows, and Keith hopes that the news hasn’t spread around the rest of the cadets. It’s embarrassing.

He sets his backpack with the box inside down on his bed as Tom asks another question.

“Uh – are you cool sharing a room with me? I get that omegas can be territorial and all … and –”

“I don’t mind,” Keith replies sharply. As though _he_ had been the one to object to their rooming arrangement. If Tom really didn’t want to room with an omega he could _just say_.

Keith retreats to the comfort of his bed, pulling the box of suppressants out once his roommate leaves him alone. The small print blurs into a congealed mess when he tries to read it, so he opens the box up instead, blanching at the collection of needles and tiny plastic bottles. There’s a syringe in there too. Keith vaguely knows how injections work – he’d had vaccinations as a kid, of course, but the sight of the 1mm wide needle he pulls out has him gulping in nervousness and stowing the box away. He doesn’t need to think about it until a month later, anyway.

Keith is one of the first waiting outside the mess hall for dinner, desperate as he is to get his mind off of this whole omega farce. Nothing like a balanced nutritious Garrison meal to clear his mind; far too focused on picking the peas out of his fried rice, Keith barely notices the stares and whispers directed at him.

He makes his way to the flight sim room after gulping down his dinner, wanting to get away from the prickling stares. Shiro arrives after ten minutes, nodding at Keith in greeting when he sticks a head out from inside the sim.

“You weren’t starting up a sim without any supervision, were you?” Shiro asks with a smile.

“No.”

“That’s good. You can get started,” he says, shooing Keith back inside at the impatient look on his face.

Keith gets through two lengthy simulations before popping back out and working some feeling back into his lower half. Shiro looks up at the sound of his footsteps, despite being (supposedly) deep in concentration on an essay or whatnot.

“Taking a break?”

“Yeah.”

“Uhuh? Well, about your hoverbike –” Keith bristles, looking warily at Shiro as he takes a swallow of water. “ – Did you ever learn how to properly drive it? ‘Cause I could … And also, what are you planning to do with that house?”

Keith shrugs. “It’s not that hard to drive, right?”

“Well, you’re supposed to go learn how to drive it before they give you a license.”

Keith mulls that over. “Hm. And the house, it’s not mine. But it’s pretty abandoned, so –” 

“You should get some furniture in there; it would make a cosy hideout.” Shiro taps his fingers against his keyboard in thought.

Keith frowns. “Why would I need a hideout? Because I’m an _omega_?” He watches in satisfaction as Shiro’s expression turns suddenly conflicted.

“What? No, it’s just good to have a place to yourself sometimes. I can get overwhelmed by all the people in the Garrison, too.”

“Yeah, ‘cause no one wants to be around an omega, right?” Keith stomps back into the flight sim and shuts the door before Shiro can form a proper reply.

He angrily starts up the sim, crashing his spacecraft into one of the millions of pieces of space junk orbiting Earth within five minutes, spinning off course, and then promptly smashing into Deimos before Jupiter’s even appeared on the edge of his screen.

Keith stomps back out of the sim.

“Are you okay after that crash? It looked pretty violent.”

“I’m fine.”

Shiro hesitantly shuts the lid of his laptop. “Maybe we should end here today? You can try again in a few days.”

Keith shrugs, pausing momentarily as Shiro powers down the sim, before deciding to leave the room without waiting for the man.

\-----

Unfortunately, Keith can’t put up his angry façade forever, not when he has to train with Shiro the next day. But he maintains it for a good several hours, glaring at his fellow cadets when they have the nerve to ask him about going through heat. The instructor cuts short his run in the flight sim for no reason, and Keith sulks at the back of the class for the whole duration of the lesson.

The sparring with Shiro helps to distract him, at least, and Keith doesn’t want to admit it, but ever since he’s presented, it’s been lonely. Even Eyebrows is nowhere to be seen. He blocks Shiro’s right hook with practised movements, impulsively kicking at the taller man and grinning in frustration when a hand closes around his ankle and leaves him flailing in desperation.

“Don’t kick your opponent right where it’s easiest to block.”

“Yeah yeah.”

Keith nearly gets knocked onto his back when he doesn’t take a step back in time.

“And remember to guard your head.”

“I know…”

They both work up a good sweat; the adrenaline diluting the nervous anger running through Keith’s veins. Suddenly, these sessions with Shiro are the highlight of his week – maybe as exciting as the trips out into the desert on his hoverbike. Keith imagines he’s punching a few select cadets, and sometimes Shiro has to grab his wrists to stop the angry barrage. But at least it calms him down a little.

Until someone interrupts him at lunch with a snide sneer. “Why are you getting all these one-on-one training sessions with Shirogane? You bending over for him or something?”

Of course they’ve been seen – the gym is free for anyone to use. But still, Keith didn’t think anyone would pay any special notice to the two of them.

He stands up, angrily throwing his fork down. “No?! It’s just sparring.”

“ _Sure_. What does he see in you anyway?”

Keith heavily sits back down as the guy walks away, and he stares blankly into his lunch, uncaring of the people looking at him.

He goes to find Shiro the first chance he gets, furiously rapping on his office door until the man opens up, looking ruffled.

“What’s up?”

“Why d’you do all this –” Keith gestures wildly between the two of them, fumbling for words. “ – all this, this preferential treatment shit? What do you want?”

Shiro looks taken aback at his snappish tone. “I’m not – ah – okay, maybe I am. It’s just, I dunno, your determination? It’s nice to have a partner to spar with.”

Keith isn’t buying one word of his bullshit. “Yeah. Nice. Go beat up a dummy or something.” He pauses, breath stuttering in his throat. “Is it – is it because I’m _an omega_? Is that it?”

“What? No! Look, Keith, you should calm down –”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

Shiro runs an exasperated hand through his hair. “Look, Keith, I’m being honest. Your determination and fighting spirit are impressive – reminds me a bit of myself from before, to be honest. Haha – I shouldn’t be biased to an individual cadet, but –”

He pauses, and Keith watches the scene with narrowed eyes.

“Not to sound patronising, but it’s just that you looked lonely and in need of some support, is all.”

Keith raises his hackles, but sags in defeat at the look of reassurance Shiro gives him. It’s true that he needed (and still needs) the support, but…

“It’s definitely not because of the omega thing, right?” He asks quietly.

“No. I’m not biased towards you because of that. Not that I’m biased …” Shiro trails off, letting out a nervous chuckle.

Keith fidgets silently for a moment, before turning around with a quiet “See you,” and leaving through the door. They return to their usual routine easily enough, the underlying trickles of tension kept under control by Shiro’s offhanded questions about his hoverbike’s specs, or his ideal renovations for the desert shack.

Shiro smiles at Keith’s childlike enthusiasm – it’s almost as if he’d never presented. Not that he’d been the paragon of excitement when Shiro first noticed him, but regardless.

\-----

Keith metaphorically kicks and elbows his way through the following days at the Garrison, and before he knows it, it’s been a month. A month since he’s presented. He takes a deep breath before pulling the suppressants out from his bedside cabinet and opens the box up, going pale when he sees the contents. He _can_ do it, but maybe later …

Suddenly, it’s an hour before curfew, and Keith really needs to inject these goddamn strange vials of fluid before he goes to bed. Against better judgement, he grabs the box (hiding it in his backpack), and makes a beeline for Shiro’s office.

The man looks a little dazed and tired when he opens the door.

“Huh?”

“Shiro – can you help me figure out this suppressant thing?”

“What? Oh yeah, sure. Let me see them?”

He neatly unpacks the box, setting the dozen or so vials on the table alongside the syringe and two sets of needles (Keith shivers). 

Shiro peers at the instruction booklet. “Did you read this?” Keith shakes his head no. “Hmm, well you’re supposed to use the big needle to extract the suppressant … Switch to the smaller one … Swab the thingy … Yeah, okay, do you want me to do this for you or do you want to try it yourself?”

“Uh – can you do it?”

“Sure. But you should learn how to do it eventually.”

Keith shrugs, rolling his pants up as instructed and watching with prickling curiosity as Shiro swabs a spot on his thigh with alcohol. The big needle punctures the vial of strange fluid with a violent motion and Keith releases the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when it is placed onto the table and not anywhere near his leg. Not that the smaller needle, for the injection, looks any friendlier.

“Does it have to go in? Can’t I take pills or something?”

“Just close your eyes. You won’t even feel it.” Shiro assures him, and despite how much of a lie that sounds like, Keith closes his eyes as instructed, twitching when something pricks his leg.

“Is it done?”

“Mhm.”

He peeks through shuttered eyelids to see a bit of gauze pressed to his leg, the tiniest drop of blood seeping through.

“Hold that in place, I’ll go dump the needles.”

“How was that?” Shiro asks when he returns. “Survivable?”

“Of course.” Keith’s not a big baby.

“Then you’ll be able to do the next one yourself?”

The look of indignation falls from Keith’s face. He shrugs hesitantly. “Sure…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave a spot in my busy schedule free for your leg injections.” Keith ducks when Shiro ruffles his hair, slipping out his office door with a muted goodbye. He’s gotten through a month of this bullshit perfectly fine – no biggie. Keith goes to sleep thinking about needles and warm hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im 18 like shiro and I don’t know how to do intramuscular injections  
> but also I cant pilot a ship to Kerberos so
> 
> also okay dont expect chapters coming out my ass daily i have 2 weeks of mock exams coming up


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heres another chapter despite the exams that r literally the day after tomorrow because im good at procrastinating

The effects of the suppressant aren’t immediately visible, so Keith hopes it’s working. He doesn’t want a repeat of last month. He doesn’t really want a repeat of the whole administering-suppressant thing, either. Maybe he can appoint Shiro as his own personal nurse.

At the thought of Shiro, a conflicted frown creeps onto Keith’s face. He doesn’t like this dependence he’s developed, this narrow-minded attitude of ‘find Shiro the moment he needs the slightest help’.

That doesn’t stop him grabbing a wad of abysmal test papers to show Shiro the next run he has in the flight sim.

“Shiro, how do you get A plusses in everything?” He thrusts the papers at Shiro, who blanches.

“I-I don’t exactly – You should go ask Matt Holt for that.”

Keith stubbornly keeps his arm outstretched, and Shiro sighs, taking the tests from him. He flips through them, scanning the black text, neat handwriting, and wild crosses and squiggles in red.

“U-Uh, Keith, are you trying really hard on these?”

That’s an easy question to answer. “No.” 

“Well … you sort of need to try to begin with.”

“And?” Keith prompts, hoping for an easier alternative.

“And revise what you learnt in class? Maybe do some practise exercises in your spare time?”

“Oh.” Keith takes the papers back. “Okay, thanks.”

Keith forgets Shiro’s advice the moment he steps into the flight sim. He can get by with just the vehicular skills, he’s sure. He tells Shiro this when the man asks him about his revision a few days later, watching his brow deepen into a frown.

“So, you’re not going to try revise? Not even a little?”

Keith shakes his head decisively.

“Well. Good luck, I guess.”

“I don’t have time anyway; I have a _job_.” _And a hoverbike to be tending to_ , but Shiro doesn’t need to know how much time Keith’s been wasting out in the desert.

“A job?” Shiro blinks, as though the idea is bizarre. It’s not – all of Keith’s older peers back at the orphanage had been instructed on finding work. _He_ didn’t have a single thing to do at fourteen, but that was because apparently his attitude put employers off.

“You’re at school though … And fifteen.”

Keith squints. “What’s that supposed to mean? Am I not allowed out without super _vision_?”

“No, it’s just –” Shiro fumbles with the words in his throat, looking uncertain for once. “Shouldn’t you be using your time to study instead?”

Keith shrugs. “But I need to get fuel for my bike.” Well not exactly _need_ , because Keith’s priorities are skewed. And he also sort of needs to pay for the whole education he’s getting, but fuel’s more important. Obviously.

Shiro opens his mouth, closing it with an audible sound, looking at Keith in thought all the while.

“Hm. Okay. What kind of job do you have?”

“Stacking boxes or something. Well, he makes me unpack them sometimes. Or cleaning shelves.” Keith makes a face.

“Don’t they have robots in cargo processing usually?” Shiro asks.

“Well, he better _not_! I have a family of four to feed!”

Shiro chuckles at Keith’s indignant look. “What, you mean your hoverbike?”

“Yeah. All two of her electric engines. And two rotors.” Keith smiles when Shiro lets out a genuine-sounding laugh. The man ruffles his hair and Keith, as usual, ducks away with a sidestep and a grin. He disappears down the corridor when Shiro bids him goodbye. He doesn’t get far, though, bumping into a fellow cadet when he rounds a corner.

“Watch it!” Keith grits his teeth, frowning down at the tiniest guy he’s seen. Either he’d got in at ten, or his growth spurt is several years late.

“Oh, huh? Sorry.”

Keith catches a whiff of his alpha scent as the guy dashes past him. Not ten, then.

\-----

Back in the relative peace of his room, Shiro taps a bored finger against his desk. A dog yaps from one of the rooms near his, and he has to wonder which student instructor smuggled a pet in. Regardless, it’s not doing anything for his concentration, which is why all the material he has to study to prepare him fully for the Kerberos mission is currently set aside.

Shiro looks at the boring essays on his laptop screen and minimises them with a quick swipe, hesitating for a moment before succumbing to the urge to peek at the folders on the Garrison intranet. He’s not exactly high up in the Garrison, so the intranet holds nothing much for him to see, but he still has access to the names of all the cadets. A little elbow nudge in Matt’s direction had got him access to the cadets’ personal details (he wasn’t abusing his privileges, no, just checking out an attractive cadet. And he was seventeen and foolish then), so it takes only a few clicks for Shiro to locate Keith’s folder, eyes scanning the usual collection of documents.

But something stands out from the typical birth certificate, application form, and the pile of detention slips. A notification of departure. The first thing that comes into Shiro’s mind is departure from a country. He clicks into the file, curious, and blinks in confusion at the wall of text that pops up. Of course, one doesn’t become a pilot and student teacher at eighteen without learning how to read, and it takes only a few seconds of scanning through the document for Shiro to get the gist of what’s going on.

Oh. An orphanage.

So the logical conclusion is that Keith is an orphan. Right?

Shiro reads through the document again, in more detail. He winces at the short paragraph about Keith, probably supposed to describe him in a positive light for his next institution to read, but only highlighting his behavioural problems. The kid’s not _too_ bad. Could learn how to make more friends, sure, but otherwise …

He skims through the paragraphs detailing the orphanage, its policies on departures, and a list of contact details, apparently for if whoever had authority over the orphan in question runs into problems. Shiro wonders who has that authority over Keith. A foster parent? He supposes a foster parent wouldn’t be too happy with Keith gallivanting around on a hoverbike at fifteen – which is why he has to pay for the fuel himself.

Shiro leaves the matter alone – it wouldn’t be beneficial to either of them for him to spend too long thinking about his newly-learned knowledge and then accidentally reveal to Keith he’s been nosing about in his past.

He tries to stow it all at the back of his mind, but Keith brings it up by the end of the week. Well, not directly. Keith stumbles into his office, exasperatedly narrating the antics of his supposedly annoying classmates before elaborating on why he’s here.

“Shiro, I got this notice from the Garrison.” He shoves the piece of paper against Shiro’s chest. “Ugh, how am I supposed to get this much money in a week?”

It’s a notice about overdue fees. Shiro swallows awkwardly.

“Do they want me to sell an organ?” Keith mutters to himself, as Shiro blurts out the first thing on his mind. Unfortunately.

“What about your foster parents?”

“Don’t have one.” Shiro watches Keith raise his head in slow-motion, realising far too late what he’d just said.

“Wait – what was that?!” Keith jumps up on angry tiptoes, pushing his face into Shiro’s personal space. “How do you know about –”

Shiro clasps a hand to Keith’s shoulder, but it’s violently shrugged aside. As usual, Keith is quick to anger. But for once, Shiro feels like his anger is justified. He wants to go back in time and punch his past self in the mouth. And maybe Matt, too, for enabling him. Though it’s not _really_ the guy’s fault.

“What the fuck was that?!”

“Hey, hey, Keith.” Shiro raises his palms in surrender, feeling like they’ve been in this sort of situation far too many times. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Great. You’re sorry. Whatever.” 

Shiro hears that familiar hitch in Keith’s throat right before he’s going to burst out screaming and claps both hands down on his shoulders again, firmer this time. He looks Keith in the eye as the teen stutters to a halt.

“Keith. Screaming isn’t going to solve anything.”

Keith’s sudden stillness takes Shiro aback. He nods quietly, a lock of messy hair falling into his face, eyes darting around awkwardly. They make eye contact for a second before Keith stares back down at his feet. He mumbles something under his breath, taking a step back when Shiro lets go of his shoulders.

“You okay?”

Keith nods again, rubbing at his nose with an agitated movement. “Smells…”

“Hm?”

“You smell funny.”

Shiro nearly raises his arms to take a sniff before remembering he’s not currently alone. He blinks at Keith.

“Is that funny, or _funny_?”

“ _Funny._ ”

Right. Shiro had nearly forgotten Keith’s an omega. The pheromones are supposed to have a much more amplified effect. He’s seen a milder effect reflected in some of the cadets he’s briefly taught. They were all alphas and betas, though, able to easily shift their focus elsewhere despite Shiro’s firm tone. But Keith – Shiro looks at the kid, noting how he still has a bit of a dazed look in his eyes. And he hadn’t even been actively trying to make his presence obvious. Shiro’s seen alpha teachers raise their hackles and practically suffuse entire classrooms with scent just to try and keep a class under control. It _worked_ , somewhat, but no one was pleased when the air cleared. And Shiro fears that’s exactly what’s going to happen to Keith. He’s going to blow up in Shiro’s face, maybe claw out an eye or two of his, and punch through the walls, leaving his wallpaper ruined.

Shiro sighs.

“C’mon Keith, let’s sit down – we can talk through this properly.” He presses a hand to Keith’s back, guiding him towards a chair in which he obediently sits down, despite the look of surly displeasure lingering on his face.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, though,” Keith sulks, fidgeting with his nails. “Just tell me how to pay the thing…”

Despite Keith’s annoyed whines, Shiro doesn’t change the subject. He awkwardly reaches a hand over to massage a bony shoulder, trying to steady both himself and the teen next to him. Keith doesn’t say a word.

“I’m – sorry. I’m sorry. It’s my fault this time. After you said that bit about having a job, I got curious.”

“It’s not weird, is it?” Keith interrupts in a muted tone. Shiro can feel a slight tenseness creeping into the frame under his palm.

“No, it’s not. Just – unusual. You don’t see many fifteen year olds, especially ones in the Garrison, with jobs.”

Keith looks like he wants to retort in his usual snappish tone, but falters when Shiro rubs his shoulder with a reassuring thumb. 

“And then – I really shouldn’t’ve – and then I looked through your documents on the Garrison intranet, and, um…”

“Yeah. Cool.” Keith sags. “I have no parents. Can’t pay for fuel. Or education. Great.” He tiredly scrubs at his eyes. “Now you get why I have that job?”

Shiro breathes in and out for a few beats, almost unconsciously, as if hoping for Keith to follow him. The pheromones seem to help, somewhat, forcing a little calm into Keith’s system before he releases all that pent-up grief and anger in one go. Shiro fumbles for something to say, even as a part of his mind drifts off, focusing on the ticking of the analogue clock on his desk he uses to ground himself.

“Keith…”

“C-Can I have something to drink?”

The abrupt question startles Shiro, and he hands over his mug (with nothing but water in it) without thinking. Keith takes a large gulp.

He tries again. “Keith, I –”

“Can you _not_ do the sappy meaningless parent talk? I’ve heard it enough times.” The angry glint has returned to his eyes, but not angry enough for the office to be upended in a flash, or even for loud protesting footsteps to trail off down the corridor. Shiro’s glad Keith isn’t resorting to the same pointless strategy to get out of every conflict – maybe he’s matured.

“Then?” Shiro flails, trying to resolve Keith’s anger but at the same time not knowing what exactly the teen wants from him.

“Just tell me how to pay the fees. I don’t want to get expelled.”

“Oh, okay. I – I think you can get a fee remission; just go fill in a form at the main office.”

“A what?”

“Remission. Tell them about your financial situation and you won’t have to pay as much.”

Keith blinks. “Okay.” He stands up, Shiro’s hand falling limply from his shoulder. He makes it halfway through the door before turning around as though having forgotten something. “Thanks.”

“No probs.”

\-----

Keith uses the first opportunity he can get to make his way to the main office – the other opportunities he has before that he wastes on his hoverbike. Or on lounging about in bed. The uniformed man behind the desk looks at him and Keith scrambles to find the right words.

“I – uh – can I – remission?”

“Pardon?” The man frowns at Keith’s garbled mumble.

Sighing, Keith repeats himself again, except louder, and with the words in the right order. He gets the message across eventually. He waits impatiently for a handful of minutes until the form is handed to him, nodding awkwardly in slight understanding as it’s explained to him. He would’ve nearly nodded his way through the entire spiel without absorbing anything except for a few words, but then his ears prick up at the sound of the word ‘parents’.

“Wait, parents?”

The man quirks an eyebrow. “Yes? You need to record your parents’ annual incomes. Here.” He points at a nondescript-looking box that Keith thinks he’ll probably muddle up with one of the other several dozen boxes littering both sides of the form.

“I don’t have parents though.” Keith states bluntly. Suddenly, he doesn’t care about hiding the whole matter. If Shiro found out, then no doubt everyone else also knows. It’s probably been broadcast throughout the Garrison, and Keith will be scorned by idiots like the ones in his primary school. He’s still surprised they picked on him; all of the other kids at the orphanage had been enrolled in the same school with him.

He’s drawn back to the present when the man replies, in an unaffected tone. “Your legal guardian, then?”

Keith shakes his head. A look of surprise creeps through the man’s professional façade.

“Then who currently has legal custody of you?”

“The Garrison.” Or maybe the orphanage, but he thought they’d said goodbye to him and everything, assuming he’d spend the next three years under the care of the Garrison before becoming financially independent. He shrugs.

“O – kay. Can you write down your name and student ID here?” An interface lights up and a pen is handed to him. He scrawls his name on the metallic surface, taking a moment or two to remember his ID, tongue sticking out in concentration.

“Thanks. We’ll get back to you about school fees.”

Keith nods, not sure if that’s solved his problem or not. He doesn’t immediately spend all of his savings, just in case. Not that he has much. Maybe enough to charge up his bike several more times.

And then someone loudly complains about how he _stinks_. Keith shoots a nasty glare at everyone in the classroom the moment he hears, all the while thinking about the alpha-pheromone perfume he’s seen lined up in tidy rows in stores. He probably has enough for an off-brand version, but everyone knows anyway. He scowls, taking a longer and more thorough shower that evening, scrubbing at his skin until someone bangs on his cubicle and asks him why he’s _’taking so godawfully long? Are you wanking?’_

He takes his time to dry off and get changed before opening the door, scowling when the guy waiting there smells distinctly alpha. The hair on the back of his neck prickles and he sidesteps, skirting around the half-naked figure and not making eye-contact. The smell is suffocating.

But not as suffocating as the wave that assaults his nose when he enters his room to find a group of strangers taking up most of the floor space, discussing girls or videogames or _something_. Oh, his roommate’s there, too. They all turn around to look at him when he steps through the doorway, pausing in their conversation just as Keith freezes, feeling like he’s intruding.

“Hey, the omega,” one of them says, as Tom gives him a mildly apologetic look. Keith has a suspicion his roommate only tries to be polite around him because he could murder him in the night, or piss all over his bed, or whatever. He’s definitely been aware of Keith’s infamous identity as dagger-wielding kid.

“Sorry,” Keith mumbles automatically, discreetly breathing through his mouth as he steps over to his bed to grab his backpack and rapidly retrieve all his belongings that he has stashed away in creative places above, under, and below his bed. His dagger is already strapped inside his jacket, of course. He doesn’t want to risk losing it, even when he’s in the shower.

He slings his backpack over his shoulder and lopes out of the room, hoping they hadn’t seen him inconspicuously sneak all his possessions out of their hiding places. But they already think he’s weird, anyway – Keith huffs as he closes the door behind him and hears the conversation inside immediately resume at a much louder volume. Why they had quieted down when he entered, Keith has no idea.

But it doesn’t make him feel very included, so he takes the familiar route out of the Garrison, ignoring that it’s two hours before curfew, or that the cool desert air makes the wet hair on his head feel like ice. It’s not the most comfortable sensation putting his helmet on, until his bike thrums into life under him. Everything blurs into unimportance when he feels the energy pulsing under him, carrying him into the sky and zooming forwards into the nothingness.

Something appears from the nothingness, eventually. The shack. _His_ shack.

It’s been abandoned and untouched every time he visits, so Keith assumes it’s his now. It’s nice to own a house, even if he has to share it with the sand granules and lizards that creep in through the ajar windows in the bedroom (they don’t shut, not even if he gives them a hard yank). He parks his bike beside the shack, unlatching the door and stepping inside, relieved to see the rug he’d picked up from a second-hand store with a portion of last week’s wages is still spread out on the floor. Keith _hadn’t_ been browsing the store with the intent to decorate his new house, but then he remembered the potential remission he could get on his school fees. _And_ the rug was a particularly fluffy specimen. Keith runs a hand through the fabric, hoping that the storeowner was telling the truth when she said all textiles in the second-hand store were given a good wash. It doesn’t smell too horrendous, though; Keith would be perfectly willing to use the rug as a makeshift bed.

In fact, he thinks, settling on his front and digging his elbows into the soft surface beneath him, falling asleep right at this moment with the entirety of the shack to himself sounded better than returning to the Garrison. He spreads his arms and legs, relaxing, until a sudden whirr jolts him from his reverie. Keith gets to his feet and presses his face to the dirt-streaked glass (the windows at the Garrison are self-cleaning and _never_ dirty) to see the tail end of a hoverbike disappear out of sight.

_What?!_

Not too sure if he should make a quick getaway on his bike or go and investigate who it is, Keith runs to the door, pausing when he sees Shiro’s familiar silhouette in the distance grow larger as he turns to drive towards Keith. Keith watches, gobsmacked, as Shiro parks his bike beside Keith’s and disembarks.

“Hey, Keith, fancy meeting you here.”

“Were you following me?” Keith asks in mild concern. Not anger, like he would if it were anyone else.

“No, just out for a ride under the stars. It’s like being in space.”

“Oh yeah? And not specifically taking the route a mile out of Garrison property to get to this shack?”

Shiro shrugs. “I’m here now. Welcome me into your house; it’s cold out.”

Huffing, Keith turns and leads the way back inside, showing off his tastefully-decorated living room with a wave of his hand.

“You can sit – on the floor, or on the rug.”

Shiro chooses the rug, and Keith sits down beside him.

“So, what’s the golden boy doing out after curfew?”

“It’s not after curfew yet,” Shiro says in a mild tone, but not before glancing at his watch in panic. “And I could ask you the same.”

“No one’s gonna care where I am,” Keith shrugs. “What about you, though? What if they find your strangled corpse in a spooky abandoned shack?”

Shiro chuckles. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“What, you think I couldn’t strangle you?”

“No.”

Keith lunges at Shiro, more intent on slapping his face than actually strangling him, but Shiro grabs him by the wrists and topples him back against the floor with a practised movement. Trust his wrestling skills to be as good as his boxing.

“See?”

Keith extricates his wrists and rolls away, pouting. “Whatever.”

They sit in companionable silence, Shiro looking at the flickering flames in the stove and Keith fidgeting with the carpet beneath him, until he suddenly blurts out: “I can handle a dagger better than you.”

“What?” Shiro turns, frowning at him.

“Uh –” Keith hesitates, wondering if Shiro might be able to tell him where his knife is from. But he’d probably also confiscate it. Instead, he subtly changes the subject, hoping Shiro doesn’t notice.

“So – uh – why aren’t there any omegas in the Garrison? It gets kinda lonely.” He chuckles, even though it’s not funny. 

“Hmm, I’m sure there are – maybe their scent isn’t obvious?”

“Oh.” Keith frowns, noticing the lines of uncertainty that have crept onto Shiro’s face. He’s usually a lot more confident, projecting his voice like he was speaking to a class of restless cadets. “Really? Then why does everyone seem to hate omegas so much?”

At Keith’s dry tone, Shiro clamps a sudden hand to his shoulder. It isn’t difficult for Keith to hold back his reflexive flinch.

“Really? Who?” He asks in concern, intense eyes scouring Keith’s face. Keith leans back.

“No one in particular, just, y’know. You saw the nurse. And there’s the instructors. And cadets.”

“Really? It can’t be all of them, that’s crazy.”

“ _Some_ of them. And it’s not crazy.” Keith shuffles backwards, shaking Shiro’s hand off his shoulder.

“It’s not like they’ve never seen an omega in their lives,” Shiro mutters.

“Yeah! So why did the nurse say they haven’t had an omega in ages? It doesn’t make sense.”

Keith likes to think he’s making a genuine and serious complaint to Shiro, but at this point, it just sounds like whiny bullshit to him. He pulls a thread out from the rug and twists it around his fingers.

“Um, maybe – it’s because you don’t usually get omegas in professional fields like this.” He ruffles Keith’s hair. “You’re pretty special to have gotten to this position.”

Maybe it’s just him, but to Keith that sounds pretty similar to the shit he’s heard about orphans never being able to have enjoyable futures or families. “What do you mean usually? Are omegas all dumb or something?”

Sensing another potentially explosive situation, Shiro quickly backtracks. “No, no – it’s just that society doesn’t really like omegas doing sciencey stuff or, y’know…”

“Why?!” Leaning forward, Keith eyes Shiro with a steely glare.

“Umm – the stereotypes, I guess?”

“Hmph. So now they’re gonna kick me out, is that right? Has the Garrison expelled every single omega, or something?”

“No, they wouldn’t do that.” Shiro doesn’t sound as certain as he _should_ , and it isn’t helping Keith’s confidence at all.

“But they’ve not admitted many omegas, so I don’t really know.”

Keith nearly listens to the urge to roll around in a tantrum, and possibly run outside onto his hoverbike and fly into a canyon wall at fifty miles per hour. But his brain stops to think, because he’s turning sixteen in a month – which calls for mature Keith, not childish impulsive Keith.

“How … do they know if they’re admitting an omega? I didn’t even present until a month in.”

That makes Shiro pause, a conflicted expression replacing his already-awkward look.

“Ah – um – I don’t know, maybe omegas just have a natural inclination to the arts or something?”

“No they don’t.” For someone who had previously given not a single fuck about presentations, Keith’s confident tone takes himself aback.

“Mm, I guess, maybe – I’ve heard of parents testing their kids at birth to see what they’d present as? And encouraging them to – I dunno. I mean my parents kinda did that, but I liked science anyway, so…”

Keith frowns. “That doesn’t sound very fair…”

“But that doesn’t matter now, does it?” Shiro interrupts, tone suddenly upbeat. “You’re here now; that’s what matters.”

“Hmph. Still don’t like it. Why didn’t _I_ know what I’d present as? Coulda just gone into prostitution instead of wasting everyone’s time.” He says this with an ugly sneer directed at the ground.

Shiro laughs worriedly. “Haha, don’t say that. I’m sure you’ll do great here. And – dunno – maybe the orphanage couldn’t afford to get everyone tested?”

Keith shrugs, flopping down sideways onto the rug. It feels soft against his face, and he shuts his eyes, ignoring Shiro in favour of sleeping. 

“Aren’t you going to return to the Garrison?” He hears Shiro ask, and turns so his back is to the man.

“Oh, okay. Goodnight, Keith.”

Keith falls asleep wondering if the whooshing he hears outside is Shiro’s hoverbike, or the sound of the wind against the walls. He hopes the man won’t tell on him; he’s only barely developed some kind of trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does the quality of this chp. seem a little yikes to u  
> anywys, yikes  
> and thanks for reading, all u nice internet people


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more Argumentative Discourse tm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> exams et my creativity  
> but yea here u go

Keith gets yelled at within five minutes of stepping foot into the Garrison, hair mussed and eyes drooping with sleep – how he managed to drive all the way back early in the morning, he still doesn’t know. He can hear Shiro’s reprimanding voice in his head.

_’Told you to go back to the Garrison before curfew.’_

Keith ignores Shiro’s voice just as he’s ignoring the infuriated spiel coming out from the commander’s mouth. 

“This has gone on far too –”

“ – you don’t have an excuse unlike last –” 

He _sort of_ needs to get to his room to dump his stuff, and then go to the bathrooms because his face feels nasty and he probably needs a wash after sleeping on a second-hand rug in a decrepit shack in the middle of nowhere. Keith rubs his eyes, yawning, and a muscle in the commander’s jaw visibly twitches.

“Don’t think that as an omega –”

Oh. So _that’s_ why he’s getting in trouble? Keith raises his shoulders defensively, the pheromones from the increasingly-angry man opposite him prickling at his eyes. He just wants to curl up under his blankets and not emerge until Shiro comes to reassure him that he _can_ continue to have some kind of future at the Garrison.

He fidgets with his backpack straps, averting his eyes and stepping around the still-talking commander in an attempt to return to his room, but a firm hand closes around his arm.

“Don’t walk away when I’m speaking, _Cadet_. Did you never learn any manners?”

“No.” Fingers dig painfully into his arm. “ _Sir,_ ” Keith adds.

“I expect you to report to the second floor Instructors’ Lounge at seven this evening.”

But that’s when he has a training session with Shiro – Keith’s thinking about asking how to wrestle. He sulks, surly, as the commander dismisses him. Because he’s _upset_ , and probably facing expulsion, Keith hides out in his room after showering, missing several lessons he should have been elated to attend. It’s not like they’re going to help him get anywhere in life, Keith thinks, recalling Shiro’s words from the night before. He burrows under his blanket, eyes open and unseeing in the shadowed nest he’s made, breathing in his exhaled air until it gets too stuffy and he unwillingly sticks his face out. He’s trying to _brood_ , goddamnit. 

Keith falls asleep for a few hours, until he’s woken by either his growling stomach (he’d missed breakfast) or the knock at his door. The door opens and Keith expects to hear the annoying voice of his roommate, but instead Shiro’s calm cadences disturb the peace.

“Keith? Are you sick? Didn’t see you at lunch.”

So Shiro’s been keeping an eye out for him at lunch? Then why has Keith been eating by himself for as long as he can remember? Well, Eyebrows _did_ sit with him once, though he left within seconds when his friends waved him over. Keith hunches his shoulders, pulling the blanket more tightly around himself as he hears Shiro step closer to his bed.

“Hey Keith, you okay?

Under a layer of blanket, Keith mumbles into the mattress, uncaring if Shiro can hear or not. “Go away.”

A hand settles on his upper arm. “You know if you feel unwell you can always go to the med bay.”

Finally, Keith turns around, revealing his grumpy expression and mess of hair. “Go away! I don’t need some stupid omega medicine.”

“What’s the problem? Is it that whole omega thing again?” He sounds tired and annoyed, and Keith hates to imagine how less burdened Shiro would be if he didn’t try to involve himself in Keith’s business.

“Of course?! When is it not the omega problem?” He can sense Shiro’s agitated pheromones in the air, but it’s not as suffocating as someone else’s would be. “Now they want to expel me or something. Already.”

Shiro gapes, making a comical sight. As though standing in Keith’s dorm room in his officer’s uniform and directing his words at the blanket burrito in front of him wasn’t already ridiculous enough.

“You what?”

“Ugh – Commander something wants me to go at seven.”

“Go where?”

“To get expelled? I don’t know.” Keith lets out a frustrated huff, disappearing back into his blankets when he feels an oncoming sniffle. Maybe he ought to fish his headphones out from wherever they’ve been hidden (he can’t remember) and listen to something to block out Shiro. But he also wants Shiro to tell him that _everything will be fine_ , and to list out everything he needs to do to avoid expulsion. Because Shiro knows everything, and can solve any problem of his.

Keith sniffles.

\-----

Feeling more out-of-place by the minute, Shiro awkwardly stares down at the lump on the bed in front of him. It makes a weird noise that can’t be anything but a sniffle.

“Um, Keith?”

His familiarly irritated face appears momentarily before disappearing again. Shiro sort of wants to disappear too – he has no idea how to deal with an emotionally stressed-out and temperamental teenager. But Keith shouldn’t have to shoulder everything he’s going through by himself…

Keith interrupts his thoughts with another mumble. “I want pizza.”

“Well, you should’ve gone to lunch then. They had pizza.” They didn’t, but Shiro is going to resort to any method he can to get this child out of his burrito. Keith’s instantaneous reaction is comical.

“Really?” The lump on the bed jerks excitably.

“Yes.”

“That’s not fair – someone shoulda said.”

Shiro shrugs. “Maybe if we go check the kitchen they’ll have leftovers?”

Keith leaps up from his bed faster than Shiro’s seen him throw punches. His hair is still damp, and horribly tangled, but he only runs a quick hand through it before putting on his jacket and grabs his dagger from under his pillow.

Shiro catches a glimpse of the serious-looking handle and sheath before Keith tucks it away.

“Um – is that – ?”

“Nothing. Can we go get pizza?”

“Sure.” Even though it’s 2 and the kitchen won’t be willing to hand out food, and there wasn’t any pizza in the first place, and Keith still looks half-asleep. 

“So what were you saying about that Commander?” Shiro asks on the way to the mess hall, trying to ignore the instincts telling him that _lying to Keith_ wasn’t a good idea. Whatever; he can address that problem when they get to the mess hall. And he managed to get Keith out of his blanket nest, finally.

“Want me to go to the Instructors’ Lounge at seven. Why’d they gotta make such a big deal out of everything?”

“Oh – there? Then it’s probably just a detention. If they were gonna expel you it’d be the head offices, for sure.”

Keith’s relief is almost tangible. “Really?”

“Yeah. So stop skipping lessons – you can still be the best Garrison pilot.”

“Hah - _best_ ,” Keith sneers, but it’s obvious he’s not as stressed or distraught as before. He asks Shiro what kind of pizza is awaiting them and Shiro nearly flees like a lesser, cowardly man. He’ll have to tell Keith eventually, he knows, but the mess hall is still a minute away. Yeah.

As expected, Keith doesn’t take it very well. He takes it so _not-well_ , in fact, that Shiro has to bodily tug him to a more secluded area to stop his yells from disturbing the cadets in their classes.

“Why’d you have to fuckin’ lie? Is this supposed to be a joke? ‘Cause it’s not –”

“Hey, hey, Keith – I was just trying to get you out of bed. You’d been in there for half a day at least.”

“My bed is comfortable,” Keith sulks. “And now where do I get pizza?”

Shiro shrugs. “Order takeout? Or I dunno, go to class?”

Keith glares at him.

\-----

Shiro has to admit he spends too much time thinking about the repercussions of the whole pizza thing. After personally shuttling Keith to his next lesson and making sure he actually entered the classroom instead of running off to who knows where, Shiro should’ve dug right in to some thrilling flight manuals and practise questions. Instead, he wastes more time than he cares to admit staring blankly at his books and wondering if Keith will turn on him for lying.

But all the teen does is get worked up at everything anyway. Maybe it’s not Shiro’s fault in the first place.

He finds himself in the gym at the usual time, checking the clock a few times before he realises that Keith’s not going to show up – he’s got a detention to serve. The holographic numbers blink over to 7:03. Shiro throws a few punches but he’s not really in the mood to properly fight, and he lets his curiosity get the better of him after a few more minutes.

He casually strolls by the Instructors’ Lounge, slowly enough to peek at what’s going on inside, and sees nothing out of ordinary. If a cadet was getting expelled, they would make a bigger deal out of it, right? Shiro can’t see Keith through any of the doors inside so he leaves before someone comes out and asks him what he’s doing loitering around, or worse, congratulates him on the Kerberos mission as though it hadn’t been confirmed half a year ago and he hasn’t constantly heard well-wishes from far too many people already.

Shiro supposes he can ask Keith what happened the next time they see each other. Unexpectedly, that’s not the day after, or even the day after that. Keith skips both sessions, and Shiro briefly entertains the idea of trying to track him down, but having to deal with tantrum after tantrum after tantrum is getting old. And wearisome.

He doesn’t see Keith for a total week and a half, until one evening he’s relaxing in his room (his office hours vary, but he’s usually only there when he wants to be, or when going upstairs to his room just seems a little too tedious) and his phone vibrates. Apparently someone’s pressing the buzzer outside his office, and repeatedly, too, judging from the string of notifications. He switches over to the live monitor, rolling his eyes when he makes out Keith’s mop of hair and the side of his face. He’s pressed up against Shiro’s locked office door, peeking inside with an agitated expression. Why, Shiro has no idea. Maybe Keith is having another expulsion-related panic.

Shiro almost considers ignoring the guy, but his phone doesn’t let up. Sighing, he sends a message to the display above the buzzer Keith is persistently hammering.

‘Come up to 4th floor block d’

Keith can’t get in to this section of the Garrison without special permissions, so Shiro unsticks himself from his comfortable armchair and steps outside after a minute. Keith appears within seconds.

“Hey hey, Shiro – I –”

“Come inside first; don’t make a scene.”

He continues his stuttering, halting exclamations until Shiro finally understands he’s here for another injection. Shiro rubs his temples.

“So what’s with the whole of last week then?” He figures he might as well ask, especially when Keith isn’t in a position to run away. Who would do the injection for him then? (The nurse, probably.)

“I-I went but you weren’t there.” Keith replies defensively.

Shiro takes a slow breath. “Yes I was. I was there each time, on time. Y’know, if you’re gonna cancel on someone, you should tell them.”

“You weren’t there,” Keith complains. “Were you trying to ignore me?”

Shiro blinks. “Why d’you always have to be so stubborn? Can’t you just admit you skipped and then explain why?”

Keith looks taken aback by the sudden ground-out quality of his tone, but Shiro ignores it. Just because he hasn’t seen him frustrated or angered doesn’t mean he’s incapable of expressing those emotions.

“What?!”

“Stop fu – stop making every conversation about walking out mid-sentence, or throwing a tantrum, or – Does anyone tell you to control that attitude of yours?” Shiro hisses, trying and failing to force down his impatience. But what’s he supposed to do anyway, when all this teen does is demand attention and reject it in the blink of an eye? A younger and more impulsive Shiro may have physically lashed out, but now he just breathes steadily through his nose, eyeing Keith and waiting for a response.

“Fuck off! You started it this time! And from the start!”

That’s true, Shiro supposes, focusing on the regret building up in his chest at ever getting involved with Keith. The only thing he’s not royally messed up is the injections. And that was just one.

He sighs. “Just hand over the suppressants, Keith; let’s get this over with.”

Keith reluctantly fishes the box out from his bag, looking suddenly a lot smaller when not standing angrily on tiptoes. Shiro walks towards the couch, sitting down and gesturing for Keith to sit beside him. He rolls his trouser leg up obediently despite the irritated look on his face and unnatural tension in the air. Shiro takes a moment to get the hormones into the syringe and to swap the needle to the correct one, pretending not to hear each and every one of Keith’s sharp inhales when the needles stray remotely close to him.

“Don’t move, now. I don’t want to stab you in the wrong spot,” Shiro says in a calming and just-so-slightly patronising voice.

Keith moves. In fact, he moves so much, jolting his bare leg as well as his torso, that the tip of the needle Shiro is holding aloft slightly scrapes his skin. He lifts the syringe upwards just in time. It seems the calming pheromones are having little effect.

“Keith!”

He whimpers, face hidden in both hands. “Stop that, I hate needles!”

“You were fine last time, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s before I found out you’re an untrustworthy lying shit! Who I can’t trust with needles!”

Shiro stills, just a little hurt. “Is this … still about the pizza thing?”

“Yes?! Of course it’s about the pizza thing? That proved that you’re not cosying up to me ‘cos of some kind-hearted bullshit – No! It’s the whole lies and manipulation thing again.”

“I – uh.” Shiro doesn’t know how to respond to that. Keith’s really blowing things out of proportion, he thinks.

“What if I told you I _don’t_ have ulterior motives?”

“Nope.” Keith shakes his head. “Not buying it.”

“What if I get you pizza?”

That makes Keith pause in thought. “Hm – I’ll think about it. What kind of pizza?”

“Whichever kind you want.”

“Is that a promise? _Or another nasty lie?_ ”

Shiro raises his palms. “It’s a promise, don’t look at me like that. I’ll go get pizza with you next weekend, deal?”

Keith shrugs, looking far too smug for his supposed needle freak-out session and general emotional distrust. “Can we do the injection now?”

 _‘That’s what I was trying to do!’_ thinks Shiro in exasperation, but he nods instead, laying a warm hand on Keith’s thigh that sends a relaxed frisson down the teen’s spine. Maybe Keith’s never been too good at responding to pheromone-laced commands: which is why the commanders and instructors seem to all dislike his attitude, especially for an omega. Shiro rubs a thumb next to the alcohol-swabbed spot, watching as Keith watches with wide eyes.

“Go on, close your eyes. I don’t want you to freak out again.”

Keith mutely shakes his head.

“C’mon~”

“No! What if you stab the wrong spot?”

“I won’t, as long as you don’t kick your legs or something.”

He can feel Keith tense up at the needle edges ever closer to his skin, until it sinks into his flesh in a smooth movement and Keith lets out a sound somewhere between a hiccup and a terrified shriek. Surprisingly, he doesn’t jump violently, but that was possibly a result of Shiro’s hand clamping down on his thigh and holding him in place.

He takes his time disposing of all the bits and pieces and rinsing the syringe out, returning to the living room to find Keith still ashen-faced.

“Was it _that_ bad?” Shiro removes the piece of gauze from under Keith’s hand.

Keith harrumphs.

“Then you shouldn’t have opened your eyes.”

“Whatever,” Keith grumbles, snatching the box Shiro returns to him and dramatically stomping towards the door.

“See you next month then.”

It’s an offhanded comment, but Keith turns around as though someone had dared to insult his flying skills, jabbing an accusing finger at Shiro.

“No, next week! Pizza! You can’t just _forget_ about it like that!”

“Oh yeah. See you next week.”

Keith disappears without another word, but Shiro has to wonder just how much the teen craves his company, bringing up the pizza date in that agitated way. Or maybe it’s just the food getting to him.

\-----

Shiro skips their next flight sim session, too pissed off at both himself and Keith to bother going back to that room to wait for someone who’ll never show up. Keith had made himself abundantly clear, and Shiro’s a busy man. Even prodigy flight officers have homework to do.

But fortunately not this evening, Shiro thinks, sprawling out on his couch with his phone. Matt sends him a video on thermodynamics which Shiro only watches because of the apparently hilarious string of puns. He’s about five minutes in when there’s an urgent, deafening series of knocks on his front door and Shiro opens it to find, just as he expected, Keith.

There’s a guard, too. Restraining him with a metal vicegrip. Shiro stares, unimpressed.

“Hey, lemme in! It’s trying to arrest me or something!”

“That’s ‘cause you don’t have permission to come here. And let him go, thanks. Sorry for the bother.”

Keith disappears into the room, squeezing himself around Shiro’s bulk, and he turns around after bidding the robot guard a good evening and shutting the door.

“What do y –”

Keith beats him to it, in a much louder voice. “Why didn’t you go?! And you didn’t even _tell me_ – aren’t you _supposed_ to?”

“Huh?” Shiro’s mouth drops open in confusion. “I thought you didn’t want to do this anymore – that’s why you skipped last time…”

“Uh, no?”

Shiro doesn’t even know what’s going on anymore – except for the fact that his nice evening’s probably going to devolve into another verbal fight.

“…Didn’t the possibility of expulsion ruin your motivation?”

Keith winces. “That was before, whatever. I’m not getting expelled anyway – and you _said_ I can do this whole flight sim thing.”

Keith is still avoiding talking about whatever conflict there is between him and the Garrison, but Shiro supposes that ordeal two weeks ago was just a detention in the end. They can’t possibly expel him just for being an omega anyway, that’s ridiculous. He reassures Keith accordingly, and the guy grunts.

“Yeah. I guess. Come down to the sim with me.”

Shiro pouts. “It’s late though. And I’m in my comfy pants.”

“It’s eight! And why’re you so bad at keeping promises?”

He sighs. “Keith, can we just do this next time? I’m tired – of you constantly making demands.”

“Hey, wha – That’s rude!”

Shiro shrugs, sitting himself down on the couch as Keith gapes as though not believing Shiro had just ignored him.

“Wait – stop ignoring me! You’re supposed to be mature, not rude!”

“I can be mature _and_ tired,” Shiro replies, splayed out on the couch (his feet dangle off the end) and shuffling to get comfortable. “Do I have to make a formal cancellation for today’s session for you to go away?”

“No, you had to make an on-time cancellation.”

“Huh.” Shiro blinks at the stubborn kid in front of him – now perched on his armchair – and unclips his earbuds from where they’re magnetically attached to the base of his phone, tucking the small bits of metal in his ears. And then Keith leaps over in one dramatic movement and physically snatches them from him.

“Woah! I haven’t seen these up-close before!”

“Hey – can you…”

“Have manners? No.”

Shiro frowns, snatching the earbuds back as Keith stares at them. “What kind do you use?”

“Wired.”

Wow. A relic from something like his grandparents’ or parents’ generation. He wonders how Keith managed to get a hold of them intact, as well as a device to plug them into. But he doesn’t bother asking, instead properly drowning out Keith’s presence with some soothing music.

Keith wrinkles his nose at the pop music leaking out of Shiro’s earbuds and reclaims his spot on the armchair, staring unblinkingly at the man.

Shiro just closes his eyes.

He’s about fifteen minutes into his playlist and on the verge of actually relaxing when something tiny hits him in the face. And then another. Shiro opens his eyes a fraction to see Keith flicking bits of scrunched up paper at him, torn from what looks like a homework assignment. Shiro pauses the music.

“Can you, I dunno, leave? What are you still doing here?”

“Come to the sim with me.”

“No.”

“Then I’m _not leaving_.”

Shiro sighs – Keith really needs better things to do. And more friends his own age. But he’s not really in the mood to bodily haul Keith out of his room, so he tunes out the guy, ignoring the bits of paper now littering his couch or the vibrations reverberating though his floor when Keith decides to get up and jump up and down, very loudly, next to him.

Shiro scrolls through his social media feed for the nth time. He peeks over to see Keith curled up in the armchair, sulking like a toddler.

Two hours later, after debating between deleting all of his social media accounts or making another, Shiro glances over and finds Keith still tucked in the same position, but now with his head drooping onto his knees. That can’t be comfortable for his neck.

Sometimes Shiro wonders when being a friend (mentor?) to Keith had become more like a full-time babysitting job. But he hefts Keith into his arms anyway, frowning as he unconsciously latches on with arms and legs and begins to drool on his shoulder.

“Stop that!” Shiro hisses, dumping Keith onto the couch. The guy doesn’t wake up, even with all the manhandling. Shiro resigns himself to spending the night with the possibility of getting his throat slit, or just getting woken up by either shredded bits of paper peppering him in the face or Keith’s signature grumbling.

“Good night, Keith. Don’t blame me if you wake up feeling like death.”

“Hmm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok plus this chp. this fic is now the longest fic ive written hooray


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the children Feast

Keith wakes up on a strange bed, frowning through slitted eyes at the fabric under his cheek and the blanket he has clutched in one hand. He doesn’t leap up in paranoia, though, because his dagger rests heavy on his chest. Arching his back with a yawn, Keith shuffles on the bed, looking downwards in confusion when his foot kicks something. Oh – couch then, not bed.

He shifts, tugging the blanket over his head and preparing to go back to sleep just as someone bursts into the room with far too much energy, pulling the curtains open and blinding Keith when he angrily turns to look at the intruder.

“Good morning – don’t you have lessons to be getting to?”

“Hmm.”

Keith feigns being asleep as Shiro bustles around the room, disappearing into his bedroom or bathroom every now and then. Keith imagines having a private bathroom – that would be neat. He almost drifts off again, until Shiro bends down to peer at him, poking his forehead through the thin blanket.

“Do you need the bathroom before we leave for breakfast?”

_We?_

Keith stutters out a yes to hide his awkward confusion. Are they getting breakfast _together?_ He hides in the bathroom for a few minutes, giving his face a good wash and swilling some toothpaste around in his mouth. He might be a gross teenage guy, but he’s still conscious of his morning breath. His outfit looks very obviously slept-in, but no one’s really going to pay attention anyway.

Stretching, Keith follows Shiro out of his room, footsteps echoing Shiro’s as he blindly traces the path to the mess hall, trying to remember whether he’s supposed to still be angry at the man.

“Don’t make sleeping over a habit, okay Keith? I don’t think cadets are really allowed…”

“Oh,” Keith grunts. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep in the first place.

Their conversation is stilted, halting, until Shiro spots a friend of his in the corridors and waves. “Hey, Matt!”

“Oh, it’s you. Man, I could kill for some bacon right now.” Matt rubs his eyes tiredly and Keith watches in silence as they talk.

Before an almost-accusing finger is pointed at him. “Who’s the kid?”

“Ah – I – uh – gotta go – something,” Keith trails off, dashing away before either can react. He sort of wants to grab breakfast as well, but the thought of making an entrance alongside Shiro and his friend leaves an unsettling feeling in his stomach. 

“Y’know, that cadet who –” he hears Shiro answer, before the two are out of earshot. Keith runs half of the way to his dorm room just in case they try to follow him, demanding answers. He doesn’t need to hear the rest of their conversation, or feel like some kind of third wheel becoming one with the background. Only when he enters the entrance to the dorms does Keith think to check if anyone is following him. He turns around just as someone runs into him from behind.

“Sorr – Hey! Keith – where were you last night?”

It’s Tom, and Keith stills. “Sleeping over?” 

Tom sounds as sceptical as Keith does. “Uhuh? You have fun?”

“I was sleeping.”

“Yeah?”

Keith blinks at his roommate’s strange smile.

“Who’s the lucky girl?” At Keith’s silence, he adds, “Guy?”

“Huh?”

Keith excuses himself to go to breakfast, already in confusion after the brief interactions of the morning. Maybe chowing down on some pancakes will ease the discomfort. He sits down in his usual spot with his food, only noticing after several bites that someone’s trying to talk to him. When had there been other people sitting at the same table as him?

He turns to see Eyebrows leaning into his personal space and promptly leans back.

“Why d’you smell like Officer Shirogane?”

“What?!” Keith flushes hotly, embarrassed at all the attention. Maybe if he’d stayed far far away from Shiro, then everyone would leave him alone.

The guy nods, eyebrows bobbing up and down in tandem. “Yeah you do.”

“Hey, dude, why do you know what Shirogane smells like?” His buddy next to him asks, elbowing him in the side until he jumps, leaving Keith alone for a blessed second.

“Who doesn’t, Hunk? I mean, have you _seen_ the man? Have you _smelt_ the man?”

“No?” Hunk stares in concern. He gestures at Keith’s bewildered expression. “Leave the guy alone, he’s just trying to eat.”

Keith nods in agreement, furiously chewing through his breakfast to try and escape not a minute after he sat down. He averts his eyes when both look at him and wonders if staying still and not making a sound can save him from this situation. Eyebrows shrugs. 

“Sure, fine; _don’t_ trust my finely honed senses.”

“What if he just uses the same generic shampoo or something?” Hunk makes a very logical point, Keith thinks, something more people should try to do when making assumptions about him. He nods the faintest agreement into his breakfast tray.

Surprisingly, Eyebrows pauses. “Oh yeah. Huh, maybe.”

Keith gobbles down the final bits of his breakfast before they can continue to talk about him as though he isn’t there and legs it out of the mess hall, making a mental note to never again use Shiro’s fancy face wash. Or to ever step into that man’s room again in case someone tries to accuse him.

But despite how tempting it is to be reticent around Shiro ( _that’ll teach him to not lie to my face_ , thinks Keith), Saturday morning finds him pounding down the man’s door after booting the robot guard in the face. It has a firm hold on both of his ankles when Shiro emerges.

“Huh? Oh, Keith.”

“Can we get pizza?” 

“Can you stop barging in here whenever you see fit?”

“No.” Keith stubbornly maintains, despite the sharp yank from the guard that has him stumbling to the ground.

Shiro sighs, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “Meet you at twelve in the main lobby?” Which is three hours later. Shiro doesn’t appreciate people demanding his attention early on a Saturday morning, even if he is already up. He shuts the door in Keith’s face, hearing his muffled screams fading into the distance as the guard drags him away. 

This whole arrangement doesn’t strike Shiro as strange until he’s stood in front of his closet and debating what best to wear. Not _that_ jacket, because it feels too formal. And _that_ shirt is something he might wear to the gym. It’s only when the clock is ticking close to twelve and Keith’s irritated whines (helpfully supplied by his imagination) disturb his concentration that Shiro hastily grabs a random set of clothes out of his wardrobe and shimmies into them, reminding himself that this isn’t a _date_. Just an arrangement to appease a friend and his stomach in one.

Maybe he’s just letting Matt’s words get to his head – and they hadn’t even been suggestive. Just something along the lines of ‘why are you hanging out with that kid so much? People are asking questions.’ They weren’t asking questions, because it wasn’t _that_ often, so Shiro suspects Matt might be getting a little jealous. Not that Shiro is neglecting anyone for Keith. He ignores Matt’s joking accusations.

Keith is impatiently waiting for him when he gets to the lobby, maybe a minute late, and the kid drags him outside without a word of greeting.

“Can we get pizza now?”

“Yeah –”

“And can we go on your hoverbike?” Keith adds, when Shiro walks them towards the bus stop. He pauses at the sudden enthusiastic tone.

“Oh – sure?”

“Cool!

Shiro resigns himself to the curious stares from the other people in the carpark as Keith clambers all over his hoverbike with far too much excitement, petting the really-rather-average piece of machinery with an adoring expression.

“C’mon Keith, sit up properly and we can go get pizza.”

The kid slithers off his bike for just long enough that Shiro can sit before magnetically attaching himself back to the seat, and Shiro arches an eyebrow at him in question.

“What? My bike’s shit, is all.”

“But it’s not dangerous to ride, right?” He hates to think how much time Keith is spending out on that ancient piece of junk. At least he’s wearing a helmet – unlike now. “And do you need to go get your helmet?”

“‘Course not. _Mum_.” He flicks Shiro in the back of the neck. “And if you horrifically crash and I lose a head you’ll just have to pay for the hospital fees. No biggie.”

That doesn’t leave Shiro feeling very reassured, and he uses every other minute to remind Keith to _hold on_. He can feel the grip around his waist loosening, almost teasingly.

“We’re going to get your helmet,” he sternly decides when Keith threatens to fall asleep with how smooth the ride is.

“Nah. Pizza.”

Shiro ignores him, swerving left towards Keith’s bike cave, firmly gripping the kid’s wrists when they try to sneak towards the controls.

“Stop trying to make me crash!”

Keith audibly pouts. “But I want pizza. Who cares about whether or not I’ll break my neck in the process.”

“I do. So put that on.” He comes to a stop beside the cave, pointing at Keith’s helmet under the camouflage tarp.

“Yeah, yeah.” Keith’s hair is a mess stuffed inside his helmet, and Shiro winces. “Happy now?” 

“Very. Come on, let’s go get your pizza.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you to do for the last ten minutes!” Keith’s voice is whisked away by the wind, and Shiro nods idly, leaning forward as they speed up and swerve onto the main road.

“Don’t let go!”

Keith’s response is to dig his nails into Shiro’s sides. If not for the sudden agonising pain under his ribs, Shiro thinks, Keith would make a pretty good back warmer for those lengthy rides in the chilly desert air.

\-----

They get to the pizza place eventually, overtaking a Garrison bus on the road there (Shiro cringes at the thought of his reputation when Keith pulls the finger at every face he can see through the windows). Keith bounds off the bike with an excitable sound, not remembering to take his helmet off as he flings open the door to the plain-looking establishment. Shiro has to tug it off his head, the guy bouncing away from him with a protesting look and shaking the tangled strands out of his face. Shiro hands the helmet to him as he peers at the menu.

“Can we get that one?” Keith asks after a good minute of deeply concentrated thought.

Shiro looks at where Keith’s pointing. “Pepperoni? Sure. Do you want to get takeaway or …?”

“Where’d we take it away to?”

“Dunno. _Not_ takeaway then?”

The cashier watches lazily as Shiro steps towards the counter, not bothering to get up from his seat. The place has been empty since it opened at nine, so he’s almost expecting the oddly tense pair to disappear back outside. Keith’s sudden yelp disturbs the peace, and all two other occupants in the room turn to look at him.

“How about the shack?”

“If you’re cool with carrying it all the way there on the back of a bike.”

“Oh.”

Shiro places the order, actively ignoring the way Keith continues to scrutinise the menu behind him. He’s not changing the order, or getting one more pizza, or whatever the hell the guy’s about to suggest. As expected, Keith turns to look at him right after he receives the receipt from the cashier. 

“… what do you want.”

Unexpectedly, Keith answers: “Does the pizza have olives? ‘Cos I don’t think I like those.”

“Why would they put olives on a pepperoni pizza?”

Keith blandly shrugs at him. “Then what’s all that text there?”

Shiro looks at where he’s pointing at the menu, finger resting under the capitalised font spelling out ‘Pepperoni’. 

“It just lists the toppings. Pepperoni. And mozzarella.”

“Definitely not olives, right? I don’t like olives.”

“Nope.”

“Okay.” With a satisfied smile, Keith sits down at one of the empty tables. In fact, they’re all empty, a sign of how ridiculous it is for them to be out and about so soon after midday on a Saturday. It’ll take about fifteen minutes for the pizza to be done, so Shiro joins him at the table, watching Keith twiddle his thumbs in boredom.

“So uh,” Shiro starts, already regretting his talent for making their conversations awkward. “Do you have some kind of reading disability?”

Keith looks taken aback. “No?!”

“Oh. Okay. Just wondering.”

Unexpectedly, Keith replies a moment later in a quiet mumble. “I just don’t like the neon font. It’s gross.”

Shiro has to agree with that – the menu’s bright orangey design isn’t the easiest on the eyes. He leaves the subject alone when Keith scowls at both him and the menu across the room. 

Thankfully, the pizza is done and set on the counter the moment Shiro feels the silence is getting a little too thick, Keith preferring to avoid his concerned looks to pick at his nails. His countenance does a one-eighty as Shiro sets the pizza on their table, suddenly sitting alert and upright.

Keith leans in to sniff at the steaming round of cheesy grease as Shiro serves himself a slice. “Wow. I love pizza.”

“Truce?”

“Wha –?”

Shiro points at the pizza, speech garbled by the delicious cheesy goodness in his mouth. “Here’s to less arguing and more getting along?”

“I guess…”

But Keith doesn’t raise another complaint in the rest of the time they’re there, choosing to chew his way through half of the pizza in relative silence, beaming at each slice with newfound happiness, as though he hadn’t already digested several slices before that. He sits back with a languid sigh when there’s nothing but a sad bit of smeared cheese on the plate in front of them, licking grease off his fingers.

“Okay, truce. I love pizza. _Pizza is great_.” The last part seems directed more at the remains of the pizza than Shiro, but he takes it as thanks anyway.

“You’re welcome.”

“Mm.”

The trip back is far more docile and relaxed, Keith half-asleep against Shiro’s back and too full of pizza to complain. Which is great for Shiro and all, except for when Keith’s grip begins to loosen. He stops the bike at the side of the road, turning to look at the guy limply clinging to him like a sloth about to fall out of a tree. 

Keith makes a snuffling noise when Shiro shifts in his seat. “Hrm?”

“Do you want to sit in the front or do you want to risk falling off the back onto the asphalt?”

“Do I get to drive?”

“No.”

“Hmph. I don’t need to be cradled in your arms like a baby.” Keith sticks stubbornly to his seat and Shiro shrugs, driving back onto the road. If Keith tumbles off when they’re going at fifty miles per hour then he can’t say Shiro didn’t warn him. Fortunately, the teen stays firmly attached to the bike and him, blinking lazily at the scenery whizzing by (mostly desert. And maybe two cactuses) as he rests his cheek against Shiro’s shoulder blade.

With the taste of pizza still lingering at the back of his mouth, Keith can’t find it in himself to stay angry at Shiro. Even if he has a propensity to lie, or to waste his time with dodgy friendless orphans. Keith’s paranoia is kicking in, even though the whooshing of the wind around them and the thrumming of the bike lulls him into a state of relaxation. He shifts, moving his arms so as to better throttle the hell out of Shiro’s midriff.

Shiro coughs. “Um. Can you not? And stop whatever you’re doing with your head – you’re wearing a helmet, remember?”

Keith responds by aggressively tightening his arms and continuing to press his face against Shiro’s shoulder. They’re a bit numb by the time they get back to the Garrison, so he shakes his arms about while Shiro rolls his shoulders and rubs at the spots on his sides where he’s certain to bruise. 

“Did you have to?”

“Well, if you let me drive…”

“You have a perfectly fine bike of your own!” Shiro shoots back, reaching an arm out to whack his head as Keith dances out of reach. He grins and kicks him in the shin before sprinting all the way towards the Garrison entrance, leaving Shiro standing there gobsmacked. Stowing his helmet away, Shiro shakes his head, unable to comprehend Keith’s moods.

Luckily for his sanity, the simple act of bribing Keith with food seems to have left him in an overall more tolerable state. He shows up to the next few training sessions filled with enthusiasm, almost trying to make an effort to improve his skills. His grades are still dismal, but then you can’t have everything, Shiro thinks. At least Keith seems relaxed enough around Shiro to laugh, or crack jokes, or to try and trip him over when he enters the flight sim room. Shiro ends up grabbing Keith by the arm and toppling both of them to the ground, Keith landing heavily on his ass and squawking indignantly.

“Oi!”

“What? You were asking for it.”

Keith narrows his eyes, refusing to lash out like he usually would, if only because he’s finally understood that he’s not going to be able to best Shiro in physical strength. That doesn’t stop him from trying, though, channelling his agility into darting around Shiro whenever they spar until the man grabs him by the wrist and tells him to ‘ _calm down a little_ , there’s no point wasting your energy like that.’ 

Keith outwardly rolls his eyes, but he has to admit training with Shiro like this is changing him from skinny cornered orphan kid to someone admittedly still skinny and orphaned, but more capable of holding his own against someone twice his size. That is, if Shiro goes easy on him. 

At least he can knee someone in the balls and get away without a scratch now – that happened once before Shiro told him off. Shiro’s far too comfortably easing into this nagging mother-figure position, but Keith pays him no mind – the attention is admittedly nice.

And it must be a sign of his clinginess that he actually clambers out of the flight sim when Shiro bursts into the room one evening to make an announcement.

“I forgot something in my room – can you come with me to get it?”

“Why?”

“Well you’re not supposed to be here without supervision, so…”

Keith shrugs. “Fine. I guess. How long is it gonna take?”

“Not long?” Shiro doesn’t sound very sure of himself and Keith squints in suspicion, but follows him out the door anyway.

“Why didn’t you go get it on the way?”

“I was literally a room away doing something for one of the instructors. Would’ve been late here if I went back up.”

Keith nods absentmindedly, more focused on glaring at the people in the corridors eyeing them.

“What are you getting?”

“Just some materials to prep for the Kerberos mission,” Shiro replies, jabbing the right buttons in the elevator to take them up to the fourth floor.

 _Oh. That._ Keith is more jealous than crestfallen that Shiro’s leaving for the edge of the solar system, but he likes to think that a few more persistent years at the Garrison will get him somewhere in space, even if it’s just stationed at an everyday Martian outpost. He watches as Shiro unlocks the door to his room and enters.

Keith awkwardly waits outside, turning to sneer at the robot guard watching him, when Shiro’s voice calls from inside.

“Come in! And shut the door behind you.”

He does so in confusion, wondering just what Shiro needs to get that requires him to personally be there, and then the man emerges from one of the rooms toting a chocolate cake. Keith doesn’t even think he has a fridge in there.

Shiro’s awkward exclamation cuts through the silence. “Happy birthday!”

His only response is a strangled gurgle.

“It _is_ your birthday, right? I mean, that’s what your file says.”

Keith nods slowly, taking a cautious step towards the cake as Shiro sets it on the small table in the middle of the room. 

For some reason, his lack of response leaves Shiro in a state of panic. “Um, sorry for wasting your flight sim time, and if you don’t like the cake just say! And okay I’m going to get the candles now just sit tight –”

Keith blinks at him. And then at the cake. “I-Is this real?”

“Yeah? I mean I think they used real chocolate not cocoa powder but I’m not sure; I didn’t make it –”

Shiro trails off when there’s a sudden frantic stomping and he sees the tail end of Keith disappear into his bedroom. 

“Um, that’s my bedroom…”

Keith runs back out, eyes shielded from view, and vanishes into his bathroom. 

Okay. 

Shiro awkwardly turns back around (because he still hasn’t found the candles) and pulls a face. That hadn’t been on the expected list of reactions. Getting angry at Shiro prying through his files, maybe. Being overjoyed at there being _cake_ , very likely. Doing a sudden escaping act? Very unlike Keith.

He sticks a candle into the centre of the cake and settles down on the armchair, looking at the silent bathroom door.

Keith doesn’t emerge after five minutes, and Shiro sighs, getting up. He raps on the closed door.

“Keith? You there?”

A sniffle, and then a rush of water from the tap. “… yeah.”

“Uh, take all the time you want, but just so you know, the cake’s waiting.”

“Hmm.”

It takes another ten minutes for his bathroom door to open, and Shiro pretends not to notice the frown etched onto Keith’s face, or his defensive hunch, or (especially) his slightly red-rimmed and swollen eyes.

“There you are! Birthday boy.” His enthusiasm falls flat when Keith trembles in lieu of a reply. “So. Uh, we don’t have to do the song, but you can still blow out the candle.”

“Why?” Keith’s sudden interruption jolts Shiro and he accidentally clicks the lighter on.

“Huh? Oh – why the candles? I dunno; it’s just a thing you do, y’know, light the candles, blow out the candles, make a wish…”

“Okay.”

Keith dutifully leans forward in his seat when Shiro lights the candle and lets out a loud puff of air. He pauses, turning to look at Shiro.

“Can we eat the cake now?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Keith blinks at the large slice Shiro doles out to him. “That’s a lot of cake.”

“Yeah, well, it’s your birthday.” Saying that, Shiro takes as large a slice of cake.

They eat in silence, because as Shiro now knows, Keith is not one for mid-meal chit chat, preferring to jealously guard his food until it’s all in his belly. So it comes as a surprise when he pauses half-way through the slice, a smear of chocolate on his upper lip.

“… Thanks. For the – the cake. And stuff.”

“No problem.”

He can’t see Keith’s face properly, not when he’s hunched over his plate like that, but Shiro imagines there’s a smile tickling the corners of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I went to make some melted cheese in the middle of writing the pizza scene because I couldn’t help myself  
> \- i gotta stop constnatly changing povs like this lmao  
> \- also im lance


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooray  
> keith hunny u better stop projecting ur insecurities onto everyone else

It had been a pretty hefty chunk of cake that Keith had just cleared off his plate, but Shiro can see how he’s still eyeing the remaining half, idly sucking the smears of chocolate off his fork.

“Do you want more?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, the cake’s all yours, so feel free to have more.”

Keith shakes his head again, decisively. “I had dinner.”

At that, Shiro laughs awkwardly, leaning back in his seat and fidgeting with his plate. He didn’t really know what he’d expected from this impromptu birthday party, but at least he’d gotten his point across. And eaten cake. He’s not foolish enough to suggest some kind of party game to break the tangible tension that’s settled in the room, but – maybe a movie will help.

“Do you wanna –”  
“Can I –”

They both still, looking at each other. Keith sets his plate down with a clink.

“Uh – can I use the bathroom?”

“Yeah. Sure.” As though Keith hadn’t just rushed off and locked himself inside it a while ago. “I’ll just put something on. To watch. If you want.”

At his words, Keith disappears back into the bathroom – the second-most comfortable place in Shiro’s room, if only because he can barricade himself inside. First-most comfortable would be the armchair. Or his bed – Keith had seen it briefly, and though not tidy, it had looked inviting, more so than his own. And the blankets warm and the pillows fluffy.

Keith forcibly tears his head out of where it’d been stuck in Shiro’s bedroom to look at his reflection in the mirror in front of him. Embarrassingly, his eyes are still visibly swollen, and he douses himself in cold water a few more times before wiping his face down. He shouldn’t be getting this emotional over a slice of cake, anyway – Shiro had treated him to pizza just a few days ago. Keith frowns at his reflection, giving his cheeks a reprimanding slap and tugging at an irritatingly curly lock of hair drooping on his forehead.

Shiro looks relieved when he emerges from the bathroom in one piece and emotionally stable.

“Where’s the cake?” He directs this at the now-empty table instead of at the man comfortably draped on the couch and blinking at something onscreen.

“Oh – I put it away. The shop gave me this insulating bag thing, which is pretty useful since the closest fridge is in the kitchens.”

At Keith’s pout, he continues: “You can have more if you want. Not right now, but maybe in the next few days?”

“Okay. Cool.” Keith takes that as an invitation to show up at Shiro’s room at any hour in the following days, just to prove to the man how much of a bother he is. Is having cake for breakfast an option? He thinks of the past sixteen years – of being fed the same thing every day. At least the Garrison has more to choose from. No cake, though.

He settles on the couch beside Shiro, a definite gap between the two of them. “What are we watching?”

“Just some reruns of old movies. I didn’t catch the name.”

There’s what looks like a frantic car chase onscreen, a blur of protagonists brandishing weapons, and a smattering of unconvincing explosions – not nearly real enough to surprise Keith. He yawns, head drooping onto the back of the couch. The sugary chocolate ganache is surprisingly not giving him a burst of energy, and he muffles another yawn.

“Bo – ring.”

“Then go back to your room and sleep. Go out joyriding on your bike – actually, don’t do that, it’s late. Go –”

“Too tired,” Keith mumbles, collapsing sideways (away from Shiro) and grinning at the man through slitted eyes.

“Oi! Stop doing that – go sleep in your own bed.”

“Nah.”

“Keith …” Shiro affects a threatening tone but Keith doesn’t budge. Not until two warm hands attach to his sides and dig firmly into his ribs, tickling him in such a way that has him nearly bodily bouncing off the couch.

“Hey!” He yelps, trying to kick the other in self-defence, but then suddenly his feet are being sat on and the tickles continue, as unforgiving as before, and Keith can do little but squirm and flail and scream angry threats.

“Stop!” He shrieks, before a string of laughs are ripped from his throat. Shiro sneers threateningly at him.

“Then don’t fall asleep.”

“I-I’ll throw up if you don’t stop!” Keith squawks, and Shiro blanches, pausing in his relentless attack and allowing Keith to wriggle a leg free to boot the man squarely in the chest. (“Oof!”)

“Don’t you dare throw up in my nice room.”

“I’ll throw up on your face if you don’t let me sleep,” Keith snaps back, smug at the way Shiro hesitates.

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’ll be as gross as I want!” Keith sings, rolling off the couch and scurrying into Shiro’s bedroom, the man watching in confusion as he disappears.

“Um –”

Keith likes to think he’s being subtle when he uses this excuse (it’s not much of an excuse) to roll into Shiro’s bed and wrap the thick blankets around himself, immediately sagging and relaxing when a wave of scent hits him in the face. After that, he gives little thought to what exactly he’s doing – platonically curling up in a friend’s bed and nearly passing out. Shiro walks in after a minute, blinking at the lump he makes in the blankets.

“Um. Can you – ?”

“No. Go away.”

“This is _my_ bed. At least sleep on the couch if you’re hellbent on staying here.”

Keith grumbles into his cocoon, letting out a fake snore when Shiro steps closer, sighing at the sight in front of him.

“Don’t make this a habit, okay? And as an omega, especially…”

He’s interrupted by Keith’s angry growl as he emerges from the blankets. “Go away!” It’s hardly intimidating, with how asleep he is, but Shiro stops anyway.

“ _Sigh._ Fine, but at least take a shower before dirtying my bed.”

“Hmm…”

“Keith!”

He rolls over, muffling his ears with the blankets and relaxing back into the mattress as Shiro frowns at him.

“C’mon, get your stinky feet out! I’ll –”

Keith’s ears perk up at that, despite how tempting it is to simply to ignore Shiro’s words and go to sleep. “I don’t smell.”

“ _Yes_ you do.”

“No I don’t!” But Keith says this in an unconvincing whine, squirming to untangle himself from the blankets and running towards the bathroom for the third time that evening – he remembers seeing a shower inside, and boy if it isn’t tempting to try and become an officer like Shiro just for the luxurious facilities. He doesn’t want to see (or smell) another communal shower for the rest of his life. And speaking of smells, the moment the door is locked, Keith gives himself a good sniff. He doesn’t smell like an omega slut, he thinks. But maybe he’s just gotten used to it. With that frightening thought in mind, Keith all but barrels into the shower, drowning himself in the spray and soap until he imagines he smells a little better than before.

Shiro doesn’t appear to wrinkle his nose at him when he steps into the living room, but he does frown at the way Keith’s sopping wet hair drips all over the floor.

“Do you not know how to use a towel – wait, what did you use to dry yourself off?”

“The black one. Towel.”

Shiro balks, a little embarrassed. “Uh – okay, I don’t think I have another … just dry your hair off at least, okay?”

Keith obediently turns around to fetch the towel, if only because a drop of water just fell into his eyes. He can’t help but notice the way Shiro’s eyes uncomfortably dart to look at him towelling the life out of his hair before returning to the TV.

“Uh – do your clothes …?”

“Hm?”

Shiro startles, as though he hadn’t been the one to originally ask. “Oh, nothing. Nevermind.”

After a moment of wringing as much water as he can out of his hair, Keith tugs at his shirt, blandly looking at Shiro. “Do you have a shirt I can borrow?”

“A-A what?”

“Shirt.”

Looking all the more unsettled with every passing second, Shiro gets up from the couch, snatching the towel from Keith as he walks past.

“Here, I’ll hang this up. And I’m sure there’s a shirt somewhere…”

There is in fact a shirt. A great many of them, even, scattered in the drawers of Shiro’s dresser. He picks one out at random, thrusting it at Keith and walking out the moment the omega starts stripping and chucking his damp clothes left and right.

Keith blinks in confusion at Shiro storming out, but shrugs and focuses on getting the overlarge shirt on and his jeans off (they’re sticking to his damp skin) before settling back into the still-warm hollow on the bed. He doesn’t have to smother himself in the blankets to realise that the scent around him is now twice as strong, and that okay, changing into a new shirt was a good idea because he’s almost immediately out like a light after inhaling lungfuls of the thick musky warmth. He doesn’t even remember to retrieve his dagger from inside his jacket (which was flung somewhere onto the floor).

\-----

Shiro stays up for another two hours, trying to get bits of all of his essays written (instead of finishing one of them in one sitting, because he doesn’t hate himself _that_ much) while the action movie on the TV beside him mumbles quietly in the background. If he stays focused, he can almost avoid thinking about Keith’s strange behaviour, or how he’s eventually going to have to relocate Keith to the couch without waking and angering him. Or that he’s essentially let an omega unrelated to him wear his clothes and clamber all over his bed. It would be suggestive in any other context, but Keith is more like an adopted younger brother to him than anything else. Of course.

Shiro takes a quick shower of his own when midnight begins to near, wrinkling his nose at how sopping wet Keith had left his towel. Having short hair is such a convenience. 

He takes his sweet time brushing his teeth and changing into pyjamas just to avoid addressing the problem that’s currently curled up in the middle of his bed.

In fact, Shiro thinks, as he changes out of his sweatpants and chucks them at the nearest chair (also picking Keith’s mess up off the ground for him), he can definitely hear a purring coming from the boy behind him, which really isn’t encouraging Shiro to move him. But better to be yelled at in the morning than to potentially be caught in bed with not only a cadet, but an omega. He sighs. Keith needs to stop trying to get in trouble.

And then he pushes the blankets aside to see Keith contentedly snuggling into his pillow and humming with a soft vibration. Shiro nearly takes the couch instead, if not for the lethargy that’s pulling at his limbs.

“Oi. Keith, move over a lil,” Shiro mutters, pushing the guy half-off his pillow to a snuffle of discontent. He lies down before Keith decides to shuffle back to his original spot, elbowing and nudging the teen so as to make some space for himself. Keith whines in annoyance, but appears to quickly sink back into deep sleep when Shiro pulls the blankets over the two of them. Surprisingly, it’s not hard to get to sleep with a constant soft vibration coming from beside him or with the faintest scent of pine teasing his nose.

\-----

Keith wakes feeling more well-rested than he’s been in a while, stretching his arms and legs out with a wide yawn to find that he’s still in Shiro’s bed. Which had really been a terrifically spur-of-the-moment decision for him last night. But then, Keith’s always had a problem with impulse. He’s about to bury himself deeper into the blanket nest when it finally registers just what his stretched-out arm is pressed against – Shiro’s side.

“Ah –” He hastily pulls back, but Shiro doesn’t seem to notice, continuing to breathe steadily, face turned towards the ceiling. This would be a good time to assess just how awkward the situation is getting and get the hell out of there, but Keith instead shuts his eyes and goes back to sleep.

Which is why when he wakes a second time, an hour later, it’s to the sight of Shiro looking as unsettled and awkward as last night, peering at Keith’s half-asleep form before shucking off his tank top and replacing it with a t-shirt. Only when Keith lets out a dramatically drawn-out yawn does Shiro turn around with a jolt, blinking down at him.

“Hey.”

“Mh.”

“Can you get up? _Please?_ And never do that again.”

“Do what?” Keith asks, lazily squirming on the bed.

“Sleep. In my bed.”

“Why? It’s comfy.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit weird?”

Keith rolls over, tugging the blanket back over himself. “No.”

“Oi! Get up!”

“Mhhhh.” He lets out an ear-splitting yelp the next moment, when Shiro flings the blankets aside and picks him up around the midsection, taking a few staggering steps towards the living room and depositing him on the couch with a loud thump.

“I’m leaving the room in half an hour, and you are too. And be grateful I’m not forcing you to make the bed.”

Keith nods idly, now far more awake then before. He watches lazily as Shiro disappears into the bathroom, only remembering to change into his clothes from yesterday when Shiro reappears and snaps at him.

“Uhh – there’s cake, right?”

“Yes…”

“Can I have cake for breakfast?” 

Shiro sighs in his general direction. “I guess it _was_ your birthday…”

“Yeah.” Keith stubbornly juts his chin out. “Please?”

“Ugh. Fine, I guess.”

Keith leaps towards Shiro, following him into his room and gazing lovingly at the cake as it’s removed from its box. Shiro doesn’t let him take the whole thing for himself, so instead he watches impatiently as the man finds a disposable plate from somewhere and cuts him a slice. 

“Eat. But quickly. I want breakfast too and you have lessons to go to.”

Keith doesn’t need to be told twice before he’s scarfing down the cake, Shiro wryly smiling at the sight. If only he could eat breakfast in there every day, Keith thinks – he happily skirts around the mess hall and the chaos inside, instead heading for his room. It’s peaceful in there, too, and Keith sits down on his bed, idly scuffing his feet against the floor as he reorganises his bag and waits the twenty minutes for lessons to begin.

He’s starting with Basic Astrophysics today, something he’s admittedly not the best at. Especially with his tendency to fall asleep or doodle all over his worksheets. But with a good night’s sleep and a belly full of chocolate cake, he actually feels alive enough to pay attention, blearily staring at the instructor from his seat at the back of the class.

Keith unsticks himself from the seat when they’re all called up to the front to look at a scale model of some kind of black hole generator and hovers at the back of the group, tiptoeing to try and see over the tallest members of his class. The generator is a small silver thing with neatly moving parts silently rotating and spinning a black disc of paper around – where the black hole would be.

Keith idly listens to the instructor’s explanation, wondering how cool a real generator would look, when someone in front of him turns around. It’s Eyebrows, who snaps forwards like a whip at the sight of him and sniffs loudly.

“Hmm!!”

“What?”

“Nothing!” He says with a sly squint, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that has Keith stepping back in concern. The guy doesn’t bother him again after that, but the frown remains on Keith’s face as he picks at his cuticles and darts nervous looks at the people around him.

He isn’t _oblivious_ ; he can see how the girl sitting a seat away from him wrinkles her nose and gives the air around her a quick spritz of perfume, or how the instructor’s eyes seem to linger on him for longer than usual. But it’s not as if he’s the one at fault – Shiro’s supposed to be the responsible one, telling Keith off if he does something wrong, if he’s not supposed to be sleeping over every other day.

Tom doesn’t ask him where he was when they see each other again.

\-----

The lesson in the flight sim doesn’t go any better, not when everyone seems to sense his (late) entrance by scent instead of sound – he makes sure to silently sneak into class, because he’d been held up at his job and didn’t want to be told off by yet another instructor. Keith scowls at them all, and at the instructor when he’s not picked to run through a sim. Half of the class get a go, while all he has to occupy himself is a notebook supposed to be filled with observations and flight techniques.

Though the best way to evade this disgust everyone seems to have of him is to avoid Shiro entirely, Keith instead takes a thorough shower, scrubbing at his skin ‘til it glows pink and then showing up outside Shiro’s room a while later. He sulkily glares at the other officers returning to their rooms for a solid fifteen minutes until he realises that maybe Shiro’s not in. But the guy’s not in his office either, so all Keith can do for the evening is curl up in his own bed and smother the empty ache in his chest by lying immobile and contemplating how bad he is at choosing friends.

Of course, a _little_ negativity isn’t enough to get him down, and Keith’s soon back to his usual enthusiastic and aggressive self, especially during the weekly sparring sessions. Shiro doesn’t even seem to notice when Keith spends half of the time sulking at the ground and the other half trying to fatally injure him. Only when Keith attempts to follow him back to his room does he pause.

“Hey, Keith – go back to your own room.”

“Nah. My roommate doesn’t like me.” _And because you have a private shower and a nice bed,_ Keith thinks.

“Doesn’t he?”

“Yeah.” At Shiro’s raised eyebrow, he adds, “He doesn’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“I dunno – just like everyone else doesn’t like me?” Keith huffs angrily, grinning inwardly when he notices they’re still walking towards Shiro’s room, Shiro having been sufficiently distracted by Keith’s accusations.

“I’m sure they don’t all dislike you – maybe they just find you hard to approach.”

“Hmm.”

Keith stays silent after that, not sure if he wants to tell Shiro about how biased and rude everyone is being to him, as though sleeping over at Shiro’s once or twice was such a big deal. But he doesn’t want to hear someone confirming his greatest fear – that he should just cut Shiro out of his life, instead of wasting everyone’s time like this. Because Shiro knows just what to do in any situation, and the obvious solution to this is to _stop sleeping over and stop gorging himself on others’ charity_.

But Keith can’t stop his legs robotically carrying him towards Shiro’s room with every step, not when the older teen beside him resonates warmth and reassurance and safety.

Keith glares at Shiro when he stops after exiting the elevator, as though just realising Keith’s still following him.

“Go back to the cadet dorms, Keith.”

“No…”

“Keith! You’re not even supposed to be here.”

Keith grumbles incoherently, but lets himself be manhandled back into the elevator. Shiro even presses the button to the right floor for him, and he spaces out as the doors close, locking him in. 

No big deal – he’ll just try again another day. And he does, knocking down Shiro’s door and trailing after him only to see that same familiar stern expression.

“Stop coming to my room, Keith. It’s not appropriate –” 

“What? You invited me up here in the first place!”

Shiro clasps a hand to his nape. “Yeah … That wasn’t really –”

Keith growls lowly, almost tearing up in frustration at Shiro’s excellent impression of a stolid, unmoving wall, as if existing just to oppose him and never let him, despite attempt after attempt at persistent pestering. He doesn’t understand why the older teen’s suddenly clamming up – he’d expected the generosity would be a precursor to more kindness.

Shiro shouldn’t be the one to reject – it’s Keith’s job to do that.

He bristles, shoulders hunched. “What do you even want?”

“Haven’t we gone over this already?” Shiro pauses at Keith’s expression. “I guess you’re a change compared to my usual friends?”

Keith doesn’t exactly feel reassured by that – is he just a temporary distraction for Shiro when his usual friends are busy? If he knew he’d be tossed aside so quickly, Keith would’ve stopped himself from growing as attached.

“Usual friends? Is that why I can’t go into your room?”

“No… It just makes me a bit uncomfortable. Kind of.” 

“Why??” Keith whines, glad for the empty corridor. He doesn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of other people, too. “But I like your room…”

Shiro angles his head, looking a little conflicted. “Why do you like it so much? You have your room, too.”

“But my room has people in it.”

“I’m people too.”

“You don’t count,” Keith snaps, and Shiro isn’t sure whether or not to take that as a compliment.

The teen in front of him makes an abortive movement, trying to reach for the door Shiro’s blocking off, and he sighs, stepping aside. He could’ve physically moved Keith away from him and his room like he has in the last few days, but Shiro concedes instead, despising himself a little for giving into Keith’s wants so easily.

“Fine. You can come in. But no more hogging the bed and I want you to leave before curfew.”

He doesn’t like seeing Keith upset, and sure enough, the moment the teen steps into the room, his shoulders relax and the shadow in his eyes fades.

“Sure.”

“Why don’t you like the other cadets, anyway?” Shiro offers, once Keith is magnetically attached to his armchair. “You should try and get along with them.”

“Nah. They don’t like omegas.”

Shiro pauses mid-stretch, his arms aloft. “This is the end of the twenty-first century, Keith; not everyone’s that prejudiced anymore.” The last known omega breeding camp had been cleared out half a century ago, and even that had been in one of the developing countries.

Keith squints at him. “Hmm – then why do they keep making a big deal over how much I stink?”

“Do they?” Shiro doesn’t think Keith smells that much – his pheromones aren’t that obvious, unless he’s fuming and ten centimetres away, about to punch your face in. He hopes Keith hasn’t been engaging all of his classmates in that fashion; it can’t be helping him get on the Garrison’s good side.

“Yeah. This one fuckhole started spraying her perfume all over the place just ‘cos I sat down within a mile radius of her.”

To Shiro, that sounds a little like a gross exaggeration. But he doesn’t say anything. “You shouldn’t talk about your classmates like that…”

“Why not? Is she gonna know?”

“It’s just rude –”

Keith pulls a face at him, and Shiro rolls his eyes, going back to the main issue at hand. 

“Are you sure the perfume was because of you?”

“Yes?! She couldn’t’ve made it more obvious.”

“Maybe it was just a coincidence. If someone’s going to antagonise you, they’d be more vocal about it.”

They could also be irritatingly vague, of course, but that’s not the point here. Shiro rubs at his shoulder, watching the curled-up bundle of omega angrily squatting on his armchair.

Keith deflates. “I guess. Does that mean no one cares if I’m coming here?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Hadn’t they been talking about Keith’s frustration with being an omega? Shiro blinks. “Am I, as an alpha, not –”

“No! It’s cool. I don’t care if you’re an alpha, I’m staying here.” He trails off into a mumble, eyes darting towards the ground as Shiro stares at him.

“Um.”

Keith’s head snaps up. “What?!”

“Nothing. You stay here, and stop bugging me.” Keith winces. “Do you still think everyone dislikes you?”

“I dunno…”

“Well, you should try and stop thinking like that – it’ll just make you feel worse.” Shiro gives Keith’s messy head of hair a quick pat before relocating to his writing desk at the side of the room and turning his laptop on. 

He manages to get a little work done as Keith continues to brood, before the teen suddenly stands up and declares: “I’m gonna go shower.” Shiro begrudgingly nods an agreement. He’d already let Keith in, so he might as well share the shower…

Shiro makes a mental note to get a new towel just for Keith.

 _And a new bed_ , when he enters his room to find Keith curled up under the blankets and tapping away on his tablet.

“Are you wearing my shirt?” 

Keith looks up at the sound of his voice, eyes widening in embarrassment. “No? Maybe – yes.”

“Ugh. Fine, whatever.” The teen goes back to ignoring him once he realises Shiro isn’t going to tug him out of the bed and deposit him in the corridor outside – lucky for him Shiro’s so kind-hearted.

He doesn’t want to think of Keith as just any other omega, but it’s still difficult to keep a straight face when the guy insists on crawling into his bed at any opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Keith: I came out to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked rn  
> \- look i forcefed keith pizza and cake and hes still throwing tantrums what can I do to get these 2 to get along  
> \- shiros not gonna be referring to keith as a kid as much – yay for mutual respect  
> \- how big is the bed. Im not gonna address that


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its taking me longer to update lmao - im also working on the sheith big bang fic so yea  
> here's a shorter chapter than usual  
> \---  
> thank u guys so much for all the kudos + comments <3

Despite the (sensible) voice in his head telling him to take the couch, Shiro trudges over to his bed, looking down at the half-asleep parasite clinging to the mattress. Keith smacks his lips together with a muffled mumble.

“Oi.”

There’s no response, so Shiro grabs one limp bicep and rolls Keith out of the way so he can sit down. He nearly plants his ass on Keith’s battered tablet.

“Keith!”

The guy makes what sounds like a strangled gurgle and rolls over to nuzzle at Shiro’s thigh when he sits down, phone in hand. Shiro nearly gets back up again, if not for the heavy warmth of the blankets.

“Stop that!”

“No.”

“Keith…” Shiro rumbles lowly, looking away from his phone to stare at the clingy menace. Trust Keith to have mastered the art of sleep talking just to irritate him. An arm nearly reaches out to wrap around his leg but Shiro stops him just in time.

“What’s even so great about my bed?” Shiro mutters to himself. It’s just a regular bed – so what? If Keith wants to be around him that much, he could just take the couch. Or settle for their regular training sessions.

“S’nice,” Keith unexpectedly mumbles from next to him.

“It’s what?” 

“Nice… smells…” He trails off into something unintelligible, more intent on sleeping than having a conversation, and Shiro rubs a tired hand down the side of his own face. _Not this shit again_ – Keith needs to stop thinking with his nose and Shiro needs to stop forgetting that Keith’s an omega. The guy better not have imprinted on him. The last thing Shiro needs is an addition to his non-existent pack, or, even worse, an underage omega clamouring to be his mate.

 _If only Keith was a beta_ , Shiro thinks, _then there wouldn’t be any of this clingy hormonal mess._ But he doesn’t think this aloud, of course, because Keith would gut him right there and then. It’s kind of endearing, too, to have someone crave his company so much.

They’re still going to schedule a _serious_ talk about personal space when Keith wakes, though.

\-----

Keith is woken an hour before he normally wakes by a strange grunting sound, and a sharp chill runs down his spine when his imagination jumps to the worse possible conclusion. Oh fuck, _oh fuck_. Keith opens his eyes a cautious fraction to see a regular bedroom wall, and he instinctively flips around to stare at whatever’s behind him.

“What are you doing!” Keith points an accusing finger at Shiro’s form before he even comprehends what the guy’s doing.

Shiro stares at him from where he’s stretched out beside the bed. “Push-ups?”

“Oh. Okay.” Having avoided a potentially catastrophic situation, Keith huddles back into the blankets and shuts his eyes, ignoring the sound of Shiro getting up and stepping towards him.

“Hey, don’t go back to sleep – I want to talk to you about something.”

“I want to sleep...”

“Well, you didn’t sound very sleepy just a second ago.” Shiro sits down on the bed next to him, and Keith peeks at him over the edge of the blanket.

“Hm.” Shiro smells the slightest bit like sweat, and Keith unconsciously edges closer. It’s not all that obvious, he thinks, until Shiro stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Stop trying to cuddle up to me.” 

Keith’s eyebrows rise upwards to disappear under his fringe. “I’m not!”

“Yeah you are.”

“No!!”

Shiro’s even, self-assured tone doesn’t help him calm down. 

“Stop trying to ignore it, Keith. I know just as well as you do.”

Embarrassed, Keith considers disappearing into the depths of the bed, but then he sees how Shiro’s looking at him. Not so much as _angered_ , but something milder. Keith swallows.

“Uh – I dunno.”

“Mm? What about my pheromones, then? ‘Cos if I’m not mistaken –”

Keith whines in annoyance. “That’s not fair, you can’t just accuse me of –”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. It’s just that omegas – ah –” Shiro grabs his phone from the bedside cabinet, quickly thumbing through it to find something. “Yeah, see? You can get really attached to an alpha … behavioural changes and stuff …”

Keith sits up in shock. “I what? Gimme that!” He snatches the phone out of Shiro’s hands only to be faced with a wall of boring looking text. “Nevermind. What’s it say?”

“I guess it explains why you’re imprinting on me? Not the – ah – _mate_ bit, that’s irrelevant. Oh, it can be platonic too. Sometimes.”

Keith blinks at him. “Huh?”

“You’re … bonding to an alpha like when packs were still a thing. I guess omegas instinctively do that?”

Rolling his eyes, Keith mutters, “That sounds stupid. Why do I need an alpha anyway?”

“Then you should be perfectly fine with never nesting in my bed again, yeah?” Shiro nods, patiently looking at him.

“Wait – that’s not fair! It’s comfortable here.”

“Then…”

Keith fumbles for a reply. “Then – uh – can I stay here? It’s an omega thing, right? So it’s not weird.”

“Not _that_ weird,” Shiro says, more to himself than to Keith. “And it applies to platonic packmates too, so…”

“Uhuh.” Sounds like Shiro has it all properly sorted out, so Keith shuffles an inch or so closer, breathing in the pheromones and letting his eyelids droop closed. He’d been planning on going back to sleep before, but now he can do so guilt-free – there’s nothing weird about this. And then Shiro’s voice interrupts him yet again.

“Just ‘cos we have that sorted doesn’t mean you can keep hogging my bed.”

“Ugh – why not…”

“Two guy friends don’t just have sleepovers _sharing_ the same bed.” Shiro looks pointedly at him and Keith blinks in confusion.

“Guys what?”

“Nothing. Just, if you keep this up, the Garrison will think we’re mates.”

 _That_ shakes Keith from his confusion. “Ew, what? They can’t do that!”

“Course they can, it’s not that hard to imagine if you start smelling of alpha all over the place.”

Sulkily, Keith extricates himself from the blankets, shivering a little when the air touches his warm skin. “Does that mean we can’t do the flight sim stuff either?”

“What, no, of course we can still do that? It’s just the – ah – bed business that’s got to stop.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but gets out of the bed nonetheless. He imagines how his classmates would react to him presumably mating to Shiro, and shudders in disgust. The attention he’s getting now is already bad enough.

“Fine. I guess.”

“Is that a _promise_ you’ll stay out of my bed?”

Keith sullenly stares at Shiro, already sorely missing the feelings that come with burrowing into the alpha’s bed.

“Promise?” Shiro smiles patiently, and Keith caves.

“Fine. I guess.”

“Not an ‘I guess’. You better keep this promise – don’t keep running back here whenever you feel down.”

“Wait – can I at least come to your room? And use the s-shower?”

Shiro quirks a lip. “I guess visiting every now and then is okay. But only when I invite you!” He smirks at Keith’s grumble. “And don’t use my shower – all cadets have to use the communal ones, so don’t think you’re getting out of that.”

Keith grumbles again, louder, but there’s not much he can do. It’s Shiro’s room, after all.

“… but you can’t deprive me of all those omega needs, right?” The words leave a sickly feeling on his tongue, but if they can get him what he wants…

“You don’t _need_ this, per se. I’m sure you can find other things that you enjoy doing?”

Keith nods, before dashing off to the bathroom and locking himself inside. If this is his last time in Shiro’s room, he’s going to infuriate the guy as much as possible.

“Wha – hey! Come back here!”

Keith is smearing toothpaste on the mirror when the door unlocks with a click to reveal Shiro, who sees his handiwork and lets out a colossal sigh.

“Look, I gotta use the bathroom too – get out. And stop trashing my room, or I’ll refuse to help you anything. Including injections.”

 _That_ makes Keith pause. He carefully shuts the lid on the toothpaste and sets it back down.

“You can’t do that…”

Shiro grabs him by the shoulder and tugs him out of the bathroom. “Of course I can. It was out of pure generosity that I even decided to help you in the first place.”

“Oh.” Keith awkwardly glances down at his feet, fidgeting with his fingers and suddenly feeling like an intruder. “Fine. Sorry. I’ll leave.”

“Apology accepted. See you … tomorrow evening?”

Keith slightly lowers his chin in a half-nod before turning around and excusing himself from Shiro’s room. Suddenly, the threat of Shiro completely ignoring him seems a lot more realistic, and Keith is at a loss for how to respond. He sullenly walks all the way back to his room then to the communal bathrooms, coldly shouldering his way past everyone he passes by.

In the hours before lunch, he doesn’t see Shiro once – not in the corridors, or teaching any lessons, or even watching them operate the flight simulator. Keith walks into the mess hall to be faced with a sea of people, and in his bad mood, walks straight back out. He doesn’t feel that hungry anyway.

Of course, the next obvious thing to do is to sprint his way out of the front gates all the way to his hoverbike and rev the engines towards the horizon. The desert is vast, with few notable landmarks, but he knows that vaguely to his left is the shack, and up ahead, if he travels for long enough, is another township.

Keith is blindly gunning the throttle towards that sliver between land and sky when his mind dimly reminds him to check the time – lunch break doesn’t last forever, and he has a lesson to be getting to. The clock says there’s half an hour until he needs to be seated in class, but he can’t remember how long he’s already driven for. Is it time to turn back? And what if he runs out of fuel and ends up stranded out here?

Keith wonders if Shiro would come to his rescue if that actually happened. Probably not. 

He gives the horizon one last wistful stare before turning around and slowly meandering back towards the imposing steel structure marring the sky ahead of him. Keith languidly hops off his bike and strolls towards the gate, flinching a little when one of the guards snaps at him.

“What are you doing at this time?”

“Returning from lunch?”

He scurries inside and away from the guard, only realising when he looks at the clock in his dorm room that he’s twenty minutes late to his next lesson. Maybe he’ll just skip…

Keith tiredly rubs his eyes, stomach gurgling from not having eaten a thing since dinner last night. He settles into bed, promising himself he’ll get up in half an hour’s time to get to his next lesson. And by sheer willpower, he stays awake and drags himself to the proper classroom on time, only because he knows that lying immobile in bed all day just because Shiro rejected him is shamefully melodramatic.

And it’s obvious the older teen isn’t making as big of a deal of the whole situation anyway – if only Keith could be as cool and unaffected.

He manages to keep his simmering anger and guilt to a minimum by dinnertime, and it’s a calmer Keith that sits down by himself in a corner of the mess hall and systematically shovels spoonfuls of rice into his mouth. He clears his plate in ten minutes and disappears back out into the desert in another five.

His trusty shack is waiting for him when he tires of sharply swerving on his bike and attempting complicated flight manoeuvres that nearly have him falling off, the living room forever cosy with its flickering stove and slightly-dusty rug. Keith brushes the rug with a hand, settling down on it and rifling through the contents of his bag, pulling out a crumpled homework assignment, his battered tablet, and his dagger. He stares at the directions on the assignment for a few seconds (it instructs him to write an essay) before setting it aside. Shiro would want him to complete it, but then Keith is hardly in the mood to be listening to Shiro’s decisions.

Instead, he pulls his dagger from its sheath and inspects it as he has done so innumerous times in his life. He could probably sketch the knife out in full detail, down to every last groove in the smooth metal, the shape of the guard, and the glowing insignia sunk into its handle. He isn’t too sure how his father had ensured that his five-year old self properly hold onto the weapon and not lose it to all the concerned adults in the orphanage, but what matters now is that he still has this memento of the past with him.

Just by smoothing a thumb over the flat of the blade does Keith reignite the spark of curiosity in him that makes him want to run to everyone he knows, demanding answers for what exactly this dagger is supposed to represent. 

But the dagger doesn’t distract him for long, not when he’s already spent endless hours puzzling over its origins and getting his hopes up at the idea that there’s more to his identity than just an orphan. Keith heaves a sigh, fully lying down on the rug and curling around his backpack. The soft fur underneath him does little to cushion his head from the hard wooden floor.

The place would be much nicer with a proper couch, he thinks, or some kind of armchair to mirror Shiro’s. Idly, Keith allows his mind to drift, piecing together a house for himself where he can finally feel at ease – where no one will reprimand him for sulking in bed when he wants to, or where his belongings will go untouched regardless of where he leaves them. And to his dismay, the empty spaces in the shack gradually fill up to resemble Shiro’s room, down to the dark-blue paint on the walls.

Keith opens his eyes and dispels the fantasy. Maybe he’ll leave home renovations to another day. To a day when he can actually afford all of the things he’s imagining. Or at least figure out a way to feasibly steal couches and shower cubicles and transport them to the shack.

Regrettably, Keith realises he’ll have to settle for the usual dorm room, for this year, the next, and maybe even the one after. Even talented alphas can’t be promoted to officers in mere months. Of course, if Keith wants to be any sort of officer in the Garrison, he’ll need to complete that crumpled-up assignment next to him, as well as get back before curfew (an hour and twenty minutes left). The voice in his head that reminds him that sounds remarkably like Shiro, and Keith huffs to himself, throwing the assignment out of sight and curling into a tighter ball.

If he just shuts his eyes … (and wakes within an hour) … he’ll feel a bit better.

\-----

Keith wakes up to find sunlight streaming in through the windows and onto his rather-dusty rug. _Great._ He rolls over with a grumpy sigh, wondering if he can just give up on this whole Garrison thing – especially when he’s finding it so difficult to even properly attend lessons.

The sink faucet releases a small dribble of muddy water when he goes to turn it on, but it runs clear after a few seconds. Keith briefly wonders where the water might be coming from before washing his face and hands, feeling a little less dead and a little more ready to return to the Garrison and probably suffer detention yet again.

Keith doesn’t fancy sitting in a room with only another instructor for company and having to write an entire essay detailing his crimes before he’s allowed to leave. 

He swings a leg over his bike, adjusts his backpack on his shoulders (they ache a little from sleeping on the rug overnight), and zooms off towards the Garrison, whipping up a cloud of dust before he remembers to pull the bike higher off the ground.

When Keith tentatively steps towards the front gate, he can see the guards eyeing him with nasty sneers, probably waiting for him to come closer so they can cuff him and drag him off to whatever prison they have for misbehaving cadets. But they won’t catch him so easily – not when he bursts into a full-on sprint, past the guards, the one instructor loitering in the lobby, and all the way into his room.

He collapses in a breathless pile on his bed, lungs heaving as he slips his backpack off his shoulders. In that same sneaky way, Keith dashes back out and down the empty corridors, intent on sloughing the gritty bits of desert off his skin and out from his hair before attending the morning’s lesson.

In an ideal world, Keith would silently patter his way into the showers and sneak into whichever classroom he needs to be in unnoticed, but he collides straight into a broad chest within a minute of leaving his room.

“Oof!”

“Keith?”

Of course it’s Shiro. Sulking, Keith tries to sidestep the guy, tensing at the hand that lands on his shoulder.

“Go away – I need to shower.”

“It’s 10am.”

Keith shrugs.

“Are you _trying_ to fail this course?”

“I just fell asleep in the shack, is all,” Keith mutters under his breath. Why’s Shiro so angry at him all the time anyway?

“Is your dorm room that much of an issue? You could put in a request for a different one if it’s bothering you that much.”

“It’s not. Whatever, just lemme go shower – how late to the lesson do you want me to be?”

“Can’t you shower later?”

“No.”

Keith tries to push past Shiro, struggling when the hands stay put on his shoulders.

“Stop it!”

“Go to your classroom, Keith.”

“I don’t want to! Fuck off –”

Shiro sighs, relaxing a little and stepping back before Keith suddenly runs at him, elbowing him in the stomach and legging it all the way to the showers.

“Oi –”

Watching the teen disappear around the corner, Shiro sighs again, rubbing the frown off his forehead as he continues towards the lesson he’d been requested to observe. Why is Keith constantly acting up? The guy had been slightly less prickly with the offering of food, but now he’s just as intolerable as he was before. 

Shiro doesn’t want to think about how Keith might be sleeping in the shack as a substitute to his own room, so he puts the guy to the back of his mind, assuring himself that Keith is hardly his responsibility, and that he doesn’t need to feel bad. At all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> guess whos back (its me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much to all the anons on tumblr idk if ur just the same person bUT  
> okay so 2 people requested jealous/possessive!shiro and i get where you're coming from, but i think it's still too early in their relationship for that kind of behaviour (but you'll get it. eventually...)

Keith doesn’t meet his eyes during that evening’s flight sim session, though that could partly be because of the alluring (to him) machine in the corner of the room that he climbs into with as much enthusiasm as the first time, fingers fluidly tapping the now-familiar controls as Shiro drapes himself across one of the empty seats and lazily peers at Keith’s movements.

“Where’re we going today, pilot?”

Keith shrugs, despite the lettering on the screen in front of him clearly indicating that he’s picking a location from the list on the menu.

“Okay then.”

Shiro blinks slowly, watching with a slight flare of pride at how Keith calmly and naturally surveys the virtual landscape in front of them and leans back in his seat. The familiar rumble beneath them signals the engines and boosters firing up and where some might tense up with nervous energy for launch, Keith slouches and idly twitches his fingers, loosely gripping the controls and waiting the few seconds until he actually has to steer the craft. 

“Don’t get too comfy, pilot. You don’t want to fall asleep on the job,” Shiro offers a reminder.

“I wasn’t gunna,” Keith mutters as he sits up straighter, carefully watching the atmosphere thin out and waiting for the signal from the main AI to detach the boosters. 

The machine they’re in quiets to a hum once they’re out of Earth’s gravitational field and on a solid trajectory towards Venus and Shiro is almost lulled to sleep if not for Keith’s foot angrily tap-tap-tapping on the floor. He waits a moment before asking the inevitable.

“Are you angry over something I did?”

Keith stiffens, but doesn’t jerk the controls so that they veer towards untimely collision, thankfully. “N-o?”

Shiro silently reconsiders his tact. “Hm. Well, don’t stay too pissed, because – uh – you’re a cool guy. And friend. And I wouldn’t want to ruin what we have over something stupid.”

He mentally kicks himself in the shin when Keith mutely fumes in front of him. 

“We’re not friends,” Keith replies after a heartbeat.

Shiro raises a brow. “ _Yes_ , we are.”

“All your friends are your age. And you don’t keep lecturing them.”

Keith does make a valid point, Shiro thinks. But he replies nonetheless, not to be thwarted by Keith’s constant attempts at distancing himself. 

“That doesn’t stop us from being friends. And y’know why I have to do that? ‘Cause you insist being such a big baby at fif – no – _six_ teen.” He smirks when Keith snaps his head around with a snarl.

Shiro ducks when Keith all but nosedives at him, intent on tackling him to the ground or pummelling him to a mush or – 

“And that just proves it! I can’t believe you’re leaving the craft unmanned – Keith, oi! You’re getting an automatic zero, cadet.”

He pries Keith’s fingers off his neck and frowns mock-sternly as the teen lopes back towards the pilot’s seat.

“S’not like I crashed or anything.”

“Yeah, but that’s only because there’s nothing out here for you to crash into.”

Keith’s only reply is to hunch his shoulders and Shiro can’t help himself, bursting into poorly stifled laughter at the sight. He puts on a teasing tone.

“If you don’t want me to baby you, _then_ …”

“I know,” Keith mutters, raising no further complaint or executing another airborne assassination attempt. Even when Shiro gently prods at his truancy habits with his next question. 

‘Gently’ being the operative term.

“So, uh, are you gonna drop out or actually observe curfew? And classes.”

Shiro neglects to mention the list of issues that have been piling up in Keith’s folder. He doesn’t want to appear obsessive. (It’s just that he had free time. And free access.)

“Hmm.” Keith stills, watching the small round shape of Venus approach up ahead and slowing the craft just-so-slightly. 

“It’s not like I’m trying to drop out.” He darts a look behind him, at Shiro. “But just, _people_ and stuff. And I have a cool bike and entire house.” Shiro doesn’t think much of that windblown shack in the sands, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Did I show you the rug? Y’know, the –”

“Yeah,” Shiro nods, amused at the barest hint of excitement that’s crept into Keith’s voice.

He pauses momentarily, stretching arms above his head with a wide yawn. Trust Keith to make the journey smooth enough to urge him into unconsciousness.

“What you’re saying about people – you mean you’re running away just because of other people?”

“No?” Keith winces, visible in the tensing of his shoulders and arms. Shiro wonders in mild concern just how knotted his muscles are.

“Uh, not sleeping in your room because of your disagreeable roommate?”

“I don’t like him.” Keith stubbornly states, avoiding the question.

“Yeah, well we can’t always get the roommate of our dreams. But you still sorta need to sleep there.”

“I have a nice rug?”

“And you have a bed you need to be in every night if you want to stay at the Garrison.”

Keith shrugs, refusing to say anything further.

“ _And_ you can sometimes maybe chill in my room and get free injections if you stop being such a child. No bedroom, though.”

“They were free in the first place,” the hunched figure in front of him mutters, but Keith relaxes soon after in such a way that has Shiro hoping they’ve got the threat of expulsion sorted, at least for now.

He cards a hand through his hair, shifting in his seat and wondering how much more he’ll have to bribe Keith just for him to cooperate. _Exactly like a child._

It’s endearing, in the same way that some children are endearing in theory but infuriating in practice. 

“So…” Keith carefully enunciates, after a moment of silence, “can we go to your room after this?”

“How about a no? It’ll be too close to curfew – you’re just gonna stay over again.”

“I won’t.”

Shiro shrugs, even though Keith’s back is to him. “Just get us safely to Venus first, cap’n.”

“I thought I was the pilot?”

“Oh. Pilot, then.”

It takes ten more minutes of journeying through nothing and then another intense ten of angling the craft and adjusting the thrusters so they aren’t blown off course by Venus’ raging atmosphere and inflating the airbags. Keith frowns at the screen in concentration and Shiro is wise enough not to disturb him.

The simulation soon flashes complete and both teens relax, eventually getting up and clambering out of the machine. Keith needs a bit of encouragement, because he immediately fumbles to start up another mission.

“Even professional pilots needs breaks, lil’ guy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Shiro stretches with a grunt and pretends not to hear. 

They leave the room once Keith gets two more sims in, and the atmosphere is light enough that Keith cracks a few smiles that don’t look forced or murderous, nodding goodnight to him when they part ways. Shiro nudges him in the direction of the cadet dorms. He just hopes Keith is in a good enough mood to actually enter his dorm instead of running back out to desert again. Surely his roommate can’t be such a deterrent that he’d sacrifice a proper bed for some rug out in the wilderness?

Sometimes Shiro can’t understand what’s going through Keith’s mind.

\-----

The days blend one into another and Keith has barely gotten over this yawning chasm between him and Shiro (that Shiro vehemently denies, _Keith you need to stop being so clingy_ ) when Christmas holidays arrive. Which Keith assumes means weeks of having no lessons and being able to do whatever he wants.

And he’s not wrong, but he hadn’t counted on the Garrison emptying out so quickly as everyone travels all over the continent, to visit family or go on vacation. Including Shiro, who offhandedly brings up his holiday plans one evening.

Something about flying to the East Coast, and returning after three weeks. Keith blinks.

“What?”

“Weren’t you listening? I just described all of my holiday plans in great detail.”

Keith has a sneaking suspicion Shiro had only talked for a minute at most, but he hadn’t been paying attention.

“I’m flying a ship.”

“Yes, keep doing that,” Shiro smiles. “Anyway, I’m leaving mid-next week. For three weeks. So we can’t do these training things for a while.”

“O-Oh.”

Keith frowns, but it’s at the screen in front of him, not at Shiro’s words.

“You should take the time to relax. _Stop studying so hard_.”

Keith turns around at the jibe, wrinkling his nose at Shiro. “Your room’ll be empty, right?” He adds after a pause.

“Keith!”

He grumbles under his breath and refocuses on the precarious route he’s navigating, Shiro’s voice relocated to somewhere in the back of his head, sounding tinny and muted if he doesn’t pay attention to the guy’s presence behind him.

“… there’s a Christmas party on Saturday, in … You wanna come?”

Keith doesn’t respond, and Shiro shrugs mildly at the silence.

“Well feel free, it’s just in the lower hall. During dinner.”

Their destination is a space station orbiting Jupiter and Keith docks with a gentle thump, the simulation announcing completion after a moment.

“What are you doing on the East Coast?” Keith blurts out, Shiro’s words finally catching up with him.

“Visiting my family.”

_Oh. Of course._ Keith isn’t completely blind; he’s noticed how the cadets around him occasionally talk about home, or how they miss their families, or how the food at the Garrison is atrocious compared to homemade meals (Keith can’t relate). So of course it stands to reason that Shiro, similarly, has something of the sort to return to.

“Have fun,” Keith mumbles, because Shiro’s face starts to crease in worry when he sits there immobile.

“I’ll try to – as long as no one criticises me for wanting to go into space again…” Shiro rolls his eyes, and it’s clear to Keith this subject is of some great contention with his parents.

“What’s so bad about space?”

“Too big. Too far. _Why can’t you just be an astronomer, and stay on the ground._ ”

“Oh.”

That’s what Keith likes about space, though. Empty like the desert he bikes across, but far more isolated. 

Shiro muffles a yawn into the palm of his hand and gets up before Keith can start another sim.

“I’m gonna – get coffee. Hands off the controls, mister.”

“From where?” Keith blinks up at Shiro, hands awkwardly sliding from the levers.

“What? Oh, the vending machines outside.”

“Can you get me chips?”

“No, get ‘em yourself.”

Keith pulls a face but remains seated as Shiro leaves the cockpit. Half of his life’s savings are stowed in the backpack by his feet, but he doesn’t really want to waste money on food, not when the Garrison offers free meals. Keith slouches in his seat, hands digging into hoodie pockets as he ruminates on what Shiro has just told him. Absolutely no room access for three weeks. But he also has the entire holiday to do whatever he wants, which is looking more and more like simultaneously working three jobs instead of endlessly joyriding out in the desert or attempting to hunt the horizon down.

Keith wonders if he could steal the mattress and the writing desk from his room in the Garrison to take to the shack before remembering how far of a walk it is to his bike. And even then – 

Shiro would know how to strap a mattress to a hoverbike and pilot it safely. He brings this up when Shiro returns, canned coffee in hand.

“How do you steal a mattress?”

Shiro splutters. “A what?”

“Mattress. Like from my room.” Keith gestures in a vague direction. Possibly towards his room.

“Why would you do that?”

“The shack doesn’t have a mattress.”

“Why sleep in the shack when you could just sleep here?” Shiro sounds genuinely curious, instead of the impatient and belittling Keith suspects he might be, with how often they’ve gone over this topic.

“I like having my own place.”

“Is it habitable, though?”

“I can sleep in it.”

“Yeah, but running water? Electricity? Food?”

Keith deflates. “Fine. I’ll stay in my stupid room. All Christmas.”

“I mean, I’m just saying your shack might need more work before you can actually live in it. A solar generator? Some way to connect to the mains?”

Keith hunches in his hoodie, unwilling to accept that Shiro is right. He downs the rest of his coffee before addressing Keith’s irritated expression.

“No need to look so down! I’m sure you can figure something out without accidentally starving to death. Anyway, there’s still two weeks left once I get back, so I can go check the place out with you if you want.”

“Oh. Yeah, okay.” Nodding, Keith sits up straighter, starting a sim without any warning. Well there’s his holiday plans sorted.

“And don’t steal any mattresses, okay?”

“O’course…”

\-----

Shiro locks the door behind them as usual once Keith is pried away from his beloved simulator, raising an unimpressed eyebrow when the expected questions bombard him.

“Can we go to your room?”

“Are you going to use the shower?”

“No. Maybe.”

“Give me one good reason why I should let you in.”

“Cos we’re _friends_. ‘Cos you don’t want to discriminate against omegas.”

Shiro raises his hands in frustration. “I’m not discriminating.”

“Yes you are!” Keith pauses, before attempting something else. “And you’ll be gone for three weeks, and it’ll be boring.”

“And lonely.” Keith adds, looking at him. Shiro sighs, narrowing his eyes at the way Keith’s face turns suspiciously blank with what could be sadness, in his case.

“Fine. Just this once. This isn’t going to be a weekly thing, okay?”

“O’course not,” Keith mutters, but it’s easy to tell that if he were the loud and excitable kind, he’d be off bouncing down the corridor and in front of Shiro’s door until he catches up to let them both in. Though that’s pretty much what he ends up doing once Shiro taps his card to the sensor, the door clicking open.

“Keith! You said no shower!”

Keith’s only response is muffled by the sound of water and Shiro sits down next to Keith’s stuff, still blown away by how quickly his shoes and backpack had been flung off and the door to the bathroom slammed shut.

He’s not yet done with relaxing on the couch when Keith exits, towelling off his hair and casually ducking into Shiro’s bedroom to snag a shirt off his bed. Shiro nearly leaps up and tears it from his clingy little fingers in frustration.

“I thought we agreed no more showering?”

Keith hums, draping the wet towel over his hair and curling up in the armchair.

“You’re not spending the night here, okay? Even if I have to pick you up and throw you outside.”

Keith scratches his nose, adjusting his legs beneath him before turning to look at Shiro.

“P _lease_?”

“Please what?”

“Nothing. Please don’t kick me out.” He looks physically pained saying those words. “I’m even trying to be polite, so…”

“You’re being kinda obvious, Keith.” Shiro says lazily, peering at the teenager steadily drip-dripping water onto his upholstery. “Just ‘cause you said ‘please’ doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”

An angry huff of air is all that he gets.

“ _And_ , you know how you want me to treat you as an equal?” Shiro waits a beat, and Keith lets out a hesitant noise of agreement.

“Then you should keep your promises, because otherwise I can’t trust you. And if I can’t trust you, then I’m hardly going to want to be around you. Or respect your opinions, and things.”

“O-Oh.” Keith sulks quietly. “I guess.”

Shiro awkwardly itches at the collar of his shirt, sensing the temperature in the room go from peacefully lukewarm to slightly frigid. Like the sort of icy wind that’ll bite your toes off if you’re not careful. He tacks on another sentence or two.

“I’m just saying … I mean, I’m not trying to be rude; it’s just that if we agree on rules then we should stick to them. Especially if they’re to do with – y’know –”

He gestures wildly, hand indicating the gap between them as though bridging the distance. Keith blinks at him.

“You with me on this, Keith?”

“Yeah.” He mumbles. “I’m gonna do homework.”

Shiro watches, stunned, as Keith pulls his tablet and a notebook out and starts to, apparently, jot notes down.

“What are you working on?”

“Maths.”

“So, physics?”

Keith shrugs a single shoulder.

“If you need help, feel free to ask. Physics is the worst.”

“Yeah, it is.”

The room is silent for the next half hour, save for the scratching of pen on paper and the clicking of Shiro’s keyboard. He’s silently impressed – who knew Keith had it in him to actually sit down and work? Maybe he really doesn’t know the guy all that well. Shiro refocuses on the report in front of him – a mock version of all the information he would have to compile before a spacecraft launch.

He doesn’t realise Keith has stopped writing until he physically feels eyeballs boring into the side of his head. Shiro looks up.

“What?”

“Nothing. This is difficult.” Keith nods at the notebook in front of him and Shiro pauses in the frantic typing, hoping for a break.

“What is it? Show me?”

Keith pads over, leaving the wet towel dangling on the back of the armchair and sitting himself down next to Shiro, smelling of shampoo and soap and irritated teenage hormones. Shiro quickly stands up, if only because the towel is really making a _big fucking_ mess. He wrings it out in the bathroom, suffocates Keith in it (briefly, just to dry his hair a little more), and hangs it up.

Keith is still blankly staring at the difficult question when Shiro returns. It turns out to be a straightforward equation on velocity and gravitational pull and – 

Shiro is grateful for the monotony of applying basic equations to the given variables and quickly working out the solution. Keith is … less so. It takes ten minutes of explaining before he perks up and realises he recognises the equation from somewhere and actually knows how to solve the question.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. You’re pretty good at this, yeah?”

“Hm.”

Keith doesn’t return to his spot on the armchair, instead warmly pressing against Shiro’s side and studiously scribbling into his notebook. Shiro is entirely aware of Keith is trying to do, but it still works on him – with each and every question and query for help, Shiro finds himself distracted and entirely forgetting the time, until it’s past curfew and he _really shouldn’t be kicking Keith out now._

Keith smiles smugly. “Oops. Guess I worked too hard.”

Shiro glares at him. 

“Fine, just this once. And stop looking so smug.” He lazily snaps, not exactly in the mood for any arguing or for removing Keith from his room like a barnacle off a ship’s hull.

Keith takes his relaxed demeanour as a sign to immediately throw his work aside, standing up with a loud yawn and casually padding around the room.

“D’you have any food?”

“Nope.” Shiro’s not offering his candy stash, simply out of pure fear of what might happen. Maybe if he had something more akin to sedatives…

Keith peers at his desk, pulling open drawers at random and making a lap of the room before realising there’s nothing of much interest. He sits back down with an awkward noise.

“Uh. I’ll … go to sleep. Now.” He darts a glance at Shiro before standing back up again and carefully trotting towards the bedroom. Shiro raises an eyebrow.

“Sure. Sweet dreams. Whatever. Ignore everything I ever said…”

“I’m not _ignoring_ ,” Keith mutters, but Shiro finds him fast asleep in the middle of the bed in a quarter hour anyway.

“ _Psst!_ ” He’s met with muffled purring from the mound of blankets on his bed, supposedly with Keith at the centre, and Shiro rubs a tired hand down the side of his face. Honestly, he’d seen it coming.

Maybe his vacation will ease the dependency Keith has developed (or leave him fuming after three weeks of no contact, but Shiro decides not to consider this possibility), giving him a chance to make more friends or even just find something better to do than hound Shiro all day, every day.

Keith makes a whistly noise in his sleep.

Shiro apprehends the problem in his bed eventually, but only after doing several dozen push-ups, showering, and having a late-night snack (he makes sure not to crinkle the packaging too much, in case Keith startles awake). Quietly stepping around his bed, Shiro notes in annoyance that Keith has somehow managed to pull all the edges of the blanket underneath himself, so that Shiro has no way of getting at them unless he physically dislodges the sleeping teenager from his nest.

With a violent tug, Shiro physically dislodges Keith from his blanket mound, rearranging the duvet and leaving one startled, half-asleep omega figuring out which way is up and wondering why his arms are suddenly empty.

“Shove over. And don’t steal the blanket.”

“Huh?”

Shiro stretches his legs out and settles on his back, repositioning the pillow so that Keith’s head lands on the mattress with a thump. He whines.

“Nighty night,” Shiro mutters. “Don’t imprint on me too much.”

Keith doesn’t at all note his advice, shifting and squirming and plastering himself against Shiro’s side, face squashed against bicep until some internal judge decides that he’s finally comfortable and can resume sleeping.

It takes Shiro a little longer than usual to fall asleep.

\-----

When he wakes, it’s to Keith still clinging onto him from last night. The image of a barnacle comes unbidden to mind.

“Wakey wakey.” Shiro elbows Keith in the ribs, the teen steadfastly snoring despite his efforts.

“Y’know…” he adds, after extricating himself from Keith’s grip and throwing the duvet aside, “the precious time I’m spending with you in the flight sim is only because you’re supposed to be a good pilot. And good pilots don’t slack on their classes. Even if it’s astrophysics.”

Keith frowns at Shiro’s voice but reluctantly sits up, combing tired fingers through his atrocious bedhead and affecting his usual scowl in Shiro’s direction.

“What.”

“Get up. No more hugging me like I’m mummy and no more sleeping on – in my bed. We’ve had this talk already…”

“I don’t hug.” Keith retorts, warily getting to his feet.

“Yes you do, and it’s like you’re trying to suffocate someone. With your needy overwhelming emotions.”

At that, Keith’s face creases with a conflicted expression, before he decisively wrinkles his nose. 

“Gross.”

“Just like you in the morning, so hurry up and get changed and get out of my room.”

“Hmph.”

Keith is still his prickly and irritated self as they get ready for breakfast, but as he slips out the door a few minutes ahead of Shiro, he slightly turns around, speaking through a veil of hair and at the ground in front of him more than anything. But Shiro still makes out the quiet _’Thanks’_ and he nods cordially.

“No problem.”

Keith disappears in a mess of black hair and the thud of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> halfway through they're already in christmas hols and then i ended the chapter before holidays actually started  
> ...  
> sorry for being a Bad Writer


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith loses his shit cos shiro's off holidaying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its been 19 days since the last updates  
> but IM HAVING FINAL EXAMS STARTING MAY 1sT SO  
> (any other ib peeps around here?)

In the next few days, Keith preoccupies himself with trying to get on Shiro’s good side, casually asking for help on the next assignments due and blandly blinking at Shiro’s unimpressed stare.

“Good to see you’re so dedicated to your studies.”

Keith nods.

“But I’m not free this evening; something’s due –”

Keith nods again, for lack of a better response. He disappears from Shiro’s sight, drooping a little, but not enough to look like a miserable and overly emotional child. Just because Shiro’s not dedicating all of his time to him doesn’t mean Keith’s…

Upset.

And everyone’s leaving for the holidays soon, so whatever they had might not even continue to be reality once Shiro returns. Keith grits his teeth, giving that soft, flabby, and disgustingly dependent part of himself a good kick. Probably the same part that made him present as an omega.

Still, he lights up when Shiro brings up the party and emphasises the free food and drink. He’s seen the various posters scattered around advertising the event, but only now does Keith seriously consider going.

The mess hall is empty the night of the party, most of the cadets opting for whatever chaos is going on in the lower hall. Shiro is nowhere to be seen. _Probably also having fun._

Keith itches to check it out, but the peace and quiet of the empty tables and empty chairs is just a little too attractive, so he gets his food from the counter before sitting down, equidistant away from the dozen other in the room.

The silence (and muted chatter) presses comfortably on his eardrums.

The party – is much more of a cacophony. Not that Keith is unused to loud noise, or to the raucous sounds excited children make (though the cadets here are teens). He carefully peers into the hall, seeing a sea of people milling around, clutching food and drink and moving to the exaggeratedly cheery Christmas music blaring from the speakers. He can’t see Shiro or anyone else he knows. Every individual face seems completely foreign, and Keith hesitates, taking a cautious step towards the table piled with food and pausing as a few people turn to look at him.

They don’t stare for long, eyes barely brushing over his exterior before refocusing on more interesting matters. Keith slinks past them, quietly relieved that no one acknowledges his presence, let alone insults him.

He nurses a cup of something overwhelmingly fizzy and sugary, idly scanning the crowd to see: one impromptu dance-off, three instructors laughing, probably drunk, and someone’s robotics project carrying a plate across the floor. It comes to a stop beside him, methodically placing cupcakes on its plate before trundling off again.

Keith blinks.

He sees _him_ eventually, taller than most of the friends around him and laughing and smiling in that overly familiar way. Something in Keith twists, and he gulps the rest of his drink down, crumples up the cup, and disappears from the hall for anywhere else before Shiro notices him.

Shiro looks more content than usual anyway, not a sign of the irritation he always shows to Keith. Seeing this, Keith turns to leave, his mood already sour. A foray out into the desert would be the usual cure, but the current anger drags at his bones and leaves him feeling far wearier that when he arrived at the party. 

Keith slopes off to sulk in his bedroom.

\-----

His roommate suddenly returns a little after midnight with a loud group of friends, and Keith’s eardrums ring, a reflexive hiss lurching from his throat. Someone comments on his weird asocial behaviour before the whole group exits, leaving Keith to his thoughts and the once again calm pitch-black of the room.

\-----

He sees Shiro only briefly before he leaves for another part of the country, busy as he is with packing and officer-level homework assignments and all the Christmas parties he has with his other friends. Keith learns not to ask for the third time in the row after Shiro apologetically excuses himself the first two times.

Soon enough, he’s taking his last class of the year and watching the student population quickly trickle out the doors, like the boisterous kids who always get adopted at the orphanage. Except this crowd will return eventually.

He tries to wave goodbye to Shiro on Tuesday (Keith remembers clearly which day, not to mention he can see Shiro hefting a backpack down to the lobby and out the front gate), but it turns out he’s heading for the main highway with his other friends who are leaving the same day. Keith’s tentative hand quickly falls back down to his side as he steps towards the front-facing windows of the Garrison building, seeing the barest glimpse of Shiro with someone else on the back of his hoverbike, zooming out into the desert in a blur of metal and dust.

At least, Keith tells himself, none of Shiro’s friends are omegas – can possibly be omegas. It’s not a very reassuring thought, but the warning klaxons in his head and irritable spikes of hurt in his gut mellow down a little. Even if they look close to Shiro, they can’t be close in the same sense that alphas and omegas are biologically meant to be.

Keith reminds himself this as he’s curled up sulking in bed and mashing controls on his tablet, but a snide voice whispers in his ear, reproaching him that gender has nothing to do with whether or not Shiro likes him as a person, or even prefers him over other people.

He scowls at his reflection in the ancient and pitifully scratched-up piece of equipment in front of him.

Christmas holidays need to hurry up and end already.

\-----

A day later, and the conflicted feelings still haven’t worn off. But Keith’s slept half the day away and waltzes outside a few minutes before lunch, feeling a lot less constricted when he doesn’t have to pass his time following a strict schedule. (Of course, it also means he doesn’t get lunch or breakfast, but the guy at the station offers him a melted chocolate bar. Keith takes it.)

Maybe it’s because he works for four hours straight that the owner of the gas station is suddenly nice to him. Keith is still suspicious, though, as he licks the melted chocolate from the crinkled wrapper and idly leans against the counter.

He’s even more suspicious when he hears the man walk up behind him when he’s stocking up the shelves, standing close enough that Keith can smell something pungent.

“I didn’t know you were an omega.”

Keith’s breath hitches in his throat. “What –” He whirls around, immediately on edge when he discovers just how far the man has stepped into his personal space.

“Nothin’. But if you ever feeling lonely…” He leers, and Keith fights down the urge to boot him square in the chest.

Scowling, he sidesteps away, not enjoying the feeling of having a shelf to his back. “I’m not fucking interested.” 

The man shrugs and leaves him alone, but Keith can’t help twitching every time he feels eyes on him, suddenly hyperaware of what the other man is doing. He thinks back to the chocolate bar, throat drying up a little. 

Later in the afternoon, he nods a terse goodbye to his employer, taking the small wad of cash for his hours and pretending not to see the extra little piled on top, to bribe him or buy his attentions.

Tired and hungry and worn-out (the chocolate bar long burned off), Keith is in no mood to drive. A self-driving vehicle would make a good investment, he thinks drowsily, hooking a leg over his bike and swerving off down the road.

\-----

The sight and smell of food is enough to bring him back to life. Keith sprawls in a corner of the mess hall, hungrily devouring everything on his plate (and seconds), completely unaware of the sight he makes, grimy from the day’s work and defensively hunched over the food in front of him. Only when Keith sucks the last grains of rice from his spoon do the final pangs of hunger ebb away, leaving him feeling a little more alive than he did mere minutes ago.

Something about the guy back at the station is still niggling at the back of his mind, but after a warm shower and faceplanting onto his bed in the peace and quiet that’s been granted to him by his roommate leaving for the holidays, Keith falls fast asleep, thinking of nice alphas that smell like home.

\-----

It hits him the next day, when he spots the squashed box sitting at the bottom of his backpack. His suppressants. The last time had been a month ago, he’s sure. With Shiro. Keith frowns, wondering why Shiro hadn’t reminded him and helped him with his injections before he left.

That’s not very responsible, because what if Keith attempts to attempts to do it himself and stabs the wrong spot and bleeds to death? Or what if he forgets the injections in the first place and goes into heat? And now that he thinks about it, maybe his employer’s weird behaviour had been a result of his (Shiro’s) forgetfulness. Gritting his teeth, Keith reaches back inside his bag for the box, carefully prying it open.

He should probably administer the hormones as soon as possible, but first – he stands up to lock the door, tugging at the handle to double-check.

With that done, Keith pauses, feeling a little like an intruder in his own room, the only other thing in there with him the menacing box of needles and vials.

Plastic crinkles as he takes one of everything out, and Keith nearly drops the largest needle trying to tear the packaging open.

… He can deal with that later, Keith decides, furiously rubbing at a random spot on his leg with the alcohol and imagining Shiro’s hand instead. The wipe tears.

Throwing it to one side, Keith redirects his attention to the set of needles, nearly tearing up at the sight of the larger needle piercing the top of the vial with fluid efficiency. He yanks the plunger up with too much force. It didn’t look that scary when Shiro did it, and neither did the actual injection, though Keith did have his eyes jammed shut most of the time.

He almost considers sprinting to the medbay with the filled syringe clutched in one hand and pant-leg rolled up, until he remembers just how humiliating the whole ordeal is.

Keith whispers a quiet ‘fuck’.

His palms are starting to sweat, his hands shaking _quite a bit_ , but somehow the needle ends up stuck in his leg at the right angle, and he’s not bleeding horrifically or screaming in pain. Okay, maybe more than one terrified whimper had slipped out, but Keith’s not going to admit it.

He removes the needle with a full-body shudder, ready to crawl into bed and never emerge. That had been far too traumatising. With a sudden pang, Keith realises how much he wants Shiro back, just to avoid nearly pissing himself every month.

At least none of Shiro’s friends can possibly rely on him for this kind of help, Keith decides with a smug flutter of satisfaction. Even if Shiro’s taking pity on him for being an omega, the charity is still nice.

Thankfully, the injection wound doesn’t swell up or turn green or spark pain down his nerve endings. And the suppressants appear to be working, if his employer’s upturned nose is anything to go by. He leaves Keith alone, probably annoyed he doesn’t smell like fertile omega anymore. Keith is still getting the occasional glance and stray limb in his personal space, but nothing too direct. 

He doesn’t make a good omega anyway.

\-----

Keith doesn’t act or look like an omega in any sense of the word, but he finds himself prodding the jut of his hips and noting the way he prefers to shoulder his way past taller alpha classmates in the corridors. If Shiro’s only paying attention to him for his gender, shouldn’t he … flaunt it more?

None of _his_ friends are omegas, for sure.

Keith burrows into his blankets and thumbs at his tablet, idly considering whether to send Shiro a message, just to ask about his holidays. He’s ten words in when a sudden possibility strikes him, of Shiro being too busy to see his text. Keith quickly backtracks, throwing his tablet back down and resigning himself to a little less human contact than he’s gotten used to.

Shiro doesn’t seem to remember to message him, so…

\-----

Keith whiles his time away with his new job at one of the grubby, faded-away buildings serving cheap food at cheaper tables. He’s still working regular hours at the gas station, but with the holiday comes more time, until weakly pummelling the bags in the gym and loitering around the wastes of the desert starts feeling stale and tepid.

The restaurant isn’t any better, not when there’s a persistent waft of cigarette smoke from somewhere nearby and the impatient customers never calm down but only continue to direct their anger at him and the shitty food. Keith can relate, sort of.

But the pay is decent enough and, when combined with his other wages, leaves Keith feeling quietly proud. He counts his earnings, guarding them ferociously in a pouch in his bag, and trails through the second-hand store, carefully inspecting every object. A shelf, to put his knife and piled belongings on. A decorative mug, because he’s never owned his own mug before. A stuffed cat – it takes Keith a moment to realise the stiff fur is real, and he skirts around the petrified thing.

He doesn’t blow all his money on anything yet, even if a shattered and glued back-together copy of the mug is astoundingly cheap. Keith wants to consult Shiro first.

\-----

The three weeks that Shiro promised blurs into a mess of work, desert dust, and toned-down Christmas and New Years’ celebrations at the Garrison. The town nearby is livelier, which Keith witnesses from behind the counter of Nameless Restaurant No.3, packed with more drunken revellers than usual. He spills a drink on a customer and nearly receives a slap across the face for his hard work, if not for his quick reflexes in avoiding the situation. Shiro would be proud.

\-----

Shiro’s arrival back at the Garrison is not nearly as exaggerated a spectacle as his departure was (no throng of half-dozen friends crowding him), and Keith hesitates at the sight of him smiling and relaxed and probably dearly missing his time away. Shiro spots him immediately.

“Keith!”

“Hi.”

He takes a half-step backwards as Shiro approaches him. “How was your holiday?”

“Fine.”

Shiro takes his reticence in stride, nodding as though Keith had said something profound. “Sounds great. Do anything fun?”

“U-Uh.” Shiro seems comfortable enough walking beside him, and Keith follows him in what he already knows is the direction of his room, racking his brains for something to say. “Biked in the desert?”

“Do you know any tricks? We can try some out if you don’t mind getting sand everywhere.”

Keith shrugs. 

“… What did you do? On your holiday.”

He struggles to stay focused on what Shiro’s saying as his voice flows smoothly over his ears, conjuring up images that aren’t always related to Shiro’s holidaying. Keith nods at regular intervals, so intent on hearing more of Shiro’s voice that mentions of his friends bring barely a flinch to his face. Keith’s brain stutters to a halt when Shiro stops, turning to look at him.

“T-That sounds fun.”

“Mhm. And anyway, as I was saying…”

Keith trails off, mutely following Shiro into his room uninvited and watching as he takes off his heavy backpack and sheds a few layers for the relative warmth in the room. Shiro’s movement are fluid, natural, as he unpacks various things and makes a comforting mug of coffee to nurse on the couch.

He looks up at Keith, remembering his silent presence. “Oh. Did you want one?”

“No.”

Keith sits down next to him, picking at his nails as he darts awkward looks at the figure next to him. “So – uh – are your friends cool?”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? They’re nice friends.”

“Oh.” Keith stills, wondering why he thought bringing this up was a good idea in the first place.

“I can introduce you to them if you want?” 

“No! No, it’s fine.”

“Okay…”

Three weeks apart really hadn’t helped their … friendship, Keith thinks. He thinks of bolting from the room, until Shiro asks him another question.

“Oh – I completely forgot – did you do this month’s injections?”

“Yeah.” Keith puts on an irritated face. “I’m not a child; you don’t need to remind me things all the time.” 

Shiro looks relieved to hear that. “So you can do that yourself now?”

“Mm…” A bit of his nail chips off with satisfying ease. “Maybe. Not really.”

Keith gets up and leaves the room before Shiro can say anything further. “See you at training, I guess.”

“See you.” Shiro nods at him in confusion, but Keith has already closed the door, legs carrying him further and further away until he’s stood silent in his dorm room and wondering if Shiro would let him back upstairs.

\-----

The following weeks only confirm Keith’s fears. Shiro seems to take his wary distance for rejection, spending only the barest slivers of his free time with Keith and finding reason after reason to avoid him in favour of anything else.

Sure, they have their occasional training sessions, but Shiro mirrors Keith’s tentative reluctance, offering only a word or two to their limited conversation. It doesn’t help, either, that Keith is now blindingly aware every time Shiro and his friends are in sight (usually at mealtimes), the former always laughing or smiling or saying something that has the whole table chiming in in conversation. Keith can never formulate a witty or relevant reply to what Shiro has to say.

He turns to look back at his plate when Shiro’s eyes stray dangerously close towards his direction. Keith feels a hot prickle on the back of his neck as he listlessly scrapes at the uneaten food in front of him, piling it into a haphazard heap before declaring his appetite well and truly vanished.

Keith isn’t usually the type to pay attention to his surroundings, avoiding most collisions by watching the feet of people around him and warding the rest off with his reputation and annoyed expression. (His shoulder clips the doorway as he exits the mess hall.)

But something about the noticeboard catches his attention, because he swivels his head to the left to see the display plastered with the usual array of notices, some bright and others filled with columns of text that swarm like ants about the page. One stands out among the others, a singular word drawing Keith in.

_‘Kerberos’_

He steps closer, curious. 

The notice, pale text on a dramatic shot of Pluto and its moons, details a series of demonstrations and projects. In support of the upcoming Kerberos mission it seems, welcoming budding pilots and astrophysicists and astronomers. 

Keith turns up his nose, annoyed to find nothing about the actual mission. He could personally ask Shiro about it, of course…

He’s about to walk away when another line catches his eye. 

_’Want to … 5 months of … zero G sim – try it out’_

Five months? It makes sense that a flight out to Pluto would take a long time, but – five months in a spaceship? Journeys to the nearest planets only ever take a few weeks, a month at most, and Keith feels something cold and hard leap into his throat at the thought of Shiro disappearing from his life for a half a year. (Not that Shiro would make a big deal out of it.)

Keith decides to make a very big deal out of the whole situation. 

He lurks in a deserted part of the corridor outside of Shiro’s office, impatiently tapping his feet for an hour until Shiro lazily walks towards him.

Shiro turns back around when he spots Keith’s infuriated expression, steps grinding to a halt when a pair of hands latch onto his arm.

“You didn’t say Kerberos was going to be five months!”

“I didn’t say anything about Kerberos,” Shiro mumbles before striding towards his office again, unlocking the door and tugging Keith inside. “And why the angry face?”

Keith narrows his eyes at Shiro’s lazy demeanour, his seat creaking as he sits down and busies himself with pulling up assignments on his computer.

“I’m not angry! It’s not like someone’s completely ignoring someone else for no reason,” Keith mutters darkly, shooting an impatient look at the essay that Shiro is paying more attention to.

“Are you” Shiro pauses in his typing, “talking about yourself?”

Keith gapes. “No?! You’re the one being stupid and rude and annoying!”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “And … how am I doing that?”

Keith feels like he’s yelling at a brick wall when he sees the other’s unaffected expression. He scrambles for a response.

“You – you don’t even like me, and you never have anything to say, and – and you’re clearly prioritising your other friends!”

His voice escalates to a frustrated whine, hands waving uselessly in a caricature of body language.

“Don’t say that…” Finally, Shiro sounds suitably concerned. “You were being quiet after hols, so I thought you wanted some space. And I treat my friends equally.”

“But – but you were on holiday with them, and not with me.” Keith retorts, the thought appearing in his head from nowhere. He’d never even considered going on holiday with Shiro, but now that he thinks about it…

“If you really want a trip so much, there’s always future holidays,” Shiro smiles, expression faltering when Keith stonily glares. “And we all parted ways after a few hours – I was visiting my family, remember?”

“Hm. Maybe. Anyway, that doesn’t matter – you weren’t here and it was boring and I nearly killed myself with a needle.”

Shiro watches him curiously. “Did you _miss_ me?”

“No!” Keith flinches reflexively, the verbal equivalent of kicking his leg forwards. “Maybe. No, I didn’t. And anyways, it would be missing your company, not _you_.”

“So you _do_ miss me,” he grins, delight in his eyes.

“I don’t!”

Shiro sighs at Keith’s continued belligerence, leaning back in his seat (the essay forgotten, for now). “There’s no point in bottling up whatever’s on your mind, and if you’re gonna keep sulking and making assumptions then I don’t have anything else to say.”

Keith can feel ants fidgeting under his skin en masse. He scratches at his arms, squirming on the spot as a desperate sound builds in his throat.

“I’m not, not hiding anything – it’s just, Kerberos is _five_ months and you’ll be gone and it’ll be like hols but worse and I’ll only have the creepy guy at the station to talk to…”

Shiro blinks once, then twice. “What creepy guy?”

“Dunno. Some pedo.”

“Ugh. Better keep that knife on you.”

“I always carry it.” Keith can feel the heavy weight resting in his jacket.

“That’s … good. Not really. And – um – I’m flattered to be _that_ important to you, but it’s not worth centring your life around any one person.”

“But what about alphas and omegas and the whole – the whole _relationship_ …” He trails off into silence, Shiro’s eyes on him feeling at once painful and intrusive and judgemental.

“Just because gender is a thing doesn’t mean you need to form a close attachment to every alpha.”

It’s not _every_ alpha, Keith silently replies, a weird flutter in his belly.

“Uh – uh I guess. So. S’not like I’m any – am – attached. Or something,” is what the dead piece of muscle that is his tongue decides to spit out, instead. Keith audibly swallows, wincing when Shiro clears his throat.

“Um. Glad that’s sorted out? And I sort of have a thing due soon, so…”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, that’s fine – I’ll leave.” Keith hastily replies, embarrassed by how warm his face feels. He makes it one foot out the door before blurting out another (embarrassing) question.

“Are any of your friends omegas?”

“ _Why?_ ” Shiro squints, “Are you being territorial?” 

“No?!”

Keith stumbles out of the door in a loud mess of limbs to hear Shiro add: “And no, at least not from the Garrison.”

He doesn’t feel any more reassured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha.ha. keith, embrace ur omega side. what sweet irony  
> shit i couldnt do an injection myself wow keith impressive


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith gets friendzoned lmao (the boi needs more friends, tbh)
> 
> And if you haven't already seen it, @jibblyart drew some lovely [fanart](http://jibblyart.tumblr.com/post/159558796216/from-my-favorite-sheith-fic-atm-in-the-midst-of) post-chapter 10!
> 
> thank you for all the support so far!! i hope this fic will get somewher eventually. myabe a happy ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's procrastinating on revision ha

In an ideal world, Shiro would be able to pay more attention to Keith’s latest crisis instead of his own urgently-due assignment. Of course, in an ideal world, the assignment would also write itself and the dozen intelligence tests before his Kerberos mission pass themselves, leaving Shiro to wearily sink into his couch like a dead man and contemplate a life of freedom.

The keys under his fingers clack, removing more words than adding.

The next day, Shiro vaguely senses Keith looking at him when he passes by the classroom he’s in, but Shiro’s running on fumes and dregs of coffee, and it’s taking all his concentration to stay even partially focused on the class in front of him, let alone the demonstration he’s halfway through explaining (the actual instructor stands a short distance away, closely watching his every movement). Shiro pushes Keith to the back of his mind until he retreats to the quiet of his office, where Keith is quick to interrupt, and not just in his head.

Maybe his less-accessible room would have been a better option, but the Garrison entrusted him with this responsibility, so Shiro supposes he’ll sit in this small room all day, waiting for visits that’ll never come. No one really has time to visit a low-ranking officer anyway, except for when they need to call upon his piloting skills.

Keith barges in without fanfare, screeching to a stop when Shiro turns to look at him.

“Oh. It’s you.”

“Yeah.” Keith sits down in the empty seat and shuffles beside him.

“Uh – the deadline for this thing,” Shiro nods at his computer, “is an hour away, so lemme submit it first.”

“Mm. What’s it for?”

“Kerberos. Well, not exactly – just a lead up to the real thing.”

Keith stiffens, going quiet as Shiro drifts back into his own world to scan the document with hunched shoulders and creased brow, tutting every now and then when he spots something to edit.

Shiro has almost forgotten about Keith when he submits it twenty minutes later, the click of a key untethering him from the screen in front of him and all the associated stress. He sags into his chair, shoving his computer aside to look at Keith.

“So. What’s up.”

Keith freezes, raising his head from where it had been bowed and fingers stilling, something Shiro only notices once they’ve stopped in their fidgety movements.

He leans over, mildly concerned. “Don’t pick at your cuticles.”

“I don’t – What?”

He points at the torn shreds of skin framing Keith’s stubby nails, holding Keith’s hand still when he tentatively splays out a palm. The flesh is dry and raw red, and Shiro winces at the sight, smoothing a thumb over a fingernail to avoid aggravating any wounds.

“Ouch. Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Not really.”

“You should go get some bandages or something.”

Keith looks on the verge of agreeing when he suddenly pulls his hand back, curling it around the other in his lap and frowning at Shiro.

“None of your business what I do with my _cuticles_.”

Shiro doesn’t bat an eyelid. “Okay. _Okay._ Whatever. What did you even come here to talk about?”

Unexpectedly, Keith leans over the side of his seat, reaching for his backpack to pull out a slim piece of metal Shiro recognises as an older, near-obsolete cash card. He wonders when Keith had found the time to open a bank account, and what for.

“So, so I got another job during Christmas, and guess what?” He taps at the card before holding it up for Shiro to see a series of numbers in neat lettering. “I’m rich!”

This Keith says with more joy than Shiro could currently muster up, and he cracks a smile. Keith bounces in his chair, waiting for a response.

“What are you gonna do with all those big bucks, then?”

Keith tucks the card away. “Oh, yeah. I was kinda wanting to ask you about that…”

“You think _I’m_ any better at handling finances?” Shiro raises an incredulous eyebrow. “But I guess you’re not really…”

“Not really what?”

Shiro coughs. “ _Another_ job? What was your first one, anyway?”

“Working at the gas station – didn’t I tell you?” Keith replies, tone a little harsh, as though affronted Shiro doesn’t remember.

“Oh. With the creepy guy and all that?”

Shiro receives a nod in return, and he wonders idly if that’s where the forced conversation is going to come to a silent end. Keith clearly looks uncomfortable. (He continues to unconsciously scratch at his fingertips.)

And then Keith hums, leaning forward in his seat and darting a look at Shiro. “I was – thinking about kitting out the shack?”

If Shiro’s jaw happened to just drop open, he’s not going to admit it. But something like buying a dozen pizzas was what he’d expected. 

He shifts in his seat, closely watching Keith, seeing tangled hair and nervous eyes and narrow frame and shoulders curled protectively under his jacket. Not at all his usual aggressive self, but Shiro’s become familiar with Keith’s abrupt changes in personality whenever they’re alone. And nothing like the impulsive teenager who had gone and bought an entire bike with little to no financial anything behind him. Shiro stares.

“Moving into your first house already?”

Keith blinks at his teasing tone. “No. It’s not my first. I’ve lived in a house before.”

“Uhuh?” Shiro fights back a grin at Keith’s confused expression.

“Anyway, I dunno, if there’s actual electricity and a bathroom and – and posters and a couch and a desktop and …” Keith trails off, audibly swallowing before finishing the thought. “So I can stay overnight without feeling gross the next morning.”

“What’s posters got to do with that?”

“I like posters,” Keith replies defensively, crossing his arms tighter across his chest.

 _Kinda old-fashioned,_ Shiro thinks, in the age of digital displays covering each square inch. But for a teenager working two probably-dodgy jobs while juggling education, posters are probably the better choice.

“Do you need a place to live that bad? There’s still the Garrison.”

“Hmm.” Keith dips his head. “But I have the money to spend…”

Not all that much, if Shiro thinks back to the cash card. Enough to splurge on a fancy meal or two or repair his bike, but not really the kind of money to be spending on renovating an entire house (shack).

“Maybe you should save up, until you’re out of the Garrison and actually need someplace bad.”

“Oh. Okay, I guess.” Keith nods docilely, sitting on the edge of his seat and looking at a spot beyond Shiro’s head.

Half a minute passes, and Shiro decides to turn back to his computer, unsure what else Keith wants. He carefully avoids all dozen of his upcoming deadlines, worn out by simply meeting today’s.

It takes Keith another minute of staring off into nothing and worrying at his lower lip to finally speak up.

“Before, you said how omegas need mates, right?”

Shiro blinks at the abrupt change in subject. He doesn’t recall saying anything like that. “Not need, per se. _Can_ have mates? _May?_ ”

Keith nods. “Y-yeah. So then, uhh, should get a mate like – like you, maybe – or else some dodgy fuck might … And it’s safer to be mated, right?”

Shiro’s brain does a small obnoxious fart and it takes a minute for the fumes to clear and for him to formulate an answer.

“I thought … you weren’t interested in alphas? And didn’t you express disgust when –”

“N-No! Not exactly, I mean, it’s just – it’s just …” Keith makes a weird hiccupping noise before continuing, “Just nicer.”

Piecing together the garbled string of words coming out of Keith’s mouth, Shiro can’t help but raise his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Are you asking me out? In a really convoluted way?”

Keith flinches. “No! Just, like, mates. Doesn’t have to be romantic.”

The words spill out in a rush as Keith glows beet-red and retreats in his seat until he’s fully pressed against its back. Shiro has to question Keith’s motivations in making this mess of a confession, especially when he looks like he’d rather be subject to torture than made to speak his thoughts. But Shiro isn’t forcing him to, so he might as well listen to what Keith is trying to tell him. He scratches his nape as he tries to think of something to say.

“I – uh – would prefer to date someone before mating with them, to be honest. And mated couples are almost always romantically involved, so…”

Keith demonstrates his best impression of a grape shrivelling into its dried-up raisin form. He sags in his seat, dismay evident on his face.

“O-Oh. Oh then I should just – ” He gets up, reaching a hand out to open the door and no doubt disappear from Shiro’s life for another week, cowering in shame or whatever emotion he’s currently feeling.

Just then, the door bursts open by itself, one of Shiro’s friends announcing himself with a loud “Shiro- _gain_!”

Keith flinches violently, agilely vanishing out through the doorway and leaving the other two blinking at his sudden exit.

“What was that…?” His friend, Ryan, peers out the door. Keith is probably already long-disappeared.

“I think you spooked him. And don’t call me that.”

“Shi-ro-ga-ny.”

Shiro sighs. “What do you want?”

“Nothing. Just here to see my best pal. And hide in your office for a bit.” Ryan ducks under the desk beside Shiro just as someone loud and intimidating walks past the door, hunting down a certain stray cadet.

“What did you do this time?”

“Skip another lecture? I mean, I didn’t skip that many … Dunno why he’s pissed.”

Shiro shrugs tiredly, hoping Iverson doesn’t come in and accuse him of harbouring a criminal. “Whatever. I hope you get your ass handed to you once you finally show up.”

“I could just leave the country; problem solved. And when did you turn into such a musty old piece of dick cheese?”

“Ever since you started calling me that?”

His friend shoots him a grin from his awkward position on the floor. “Fair play.”

Shiro supposes he ought to be working, or else tucking himself into bed right about now, but he can’t exactly do that with a distressed and hunted friend camping out by his desk. Ryan doesn’t look at all distressed, chewing on a piece of gum as he watches Shiro lazily.

“So…are you just going to stay here?” Shiro asks after a minute. “Do you want me to fetch you anything? Snacks? Iverson?” He frowns at the figure taking up about half the space behind his desk – the office really is small.

“Yeah – uhh – I’ll have the bacon cheese fries, with a side of …”

“That’s not a snack,” Shiro mutters.

“With a large coke, thanks.” Ryan continues, ignoring him. “Oh, and guess who has freaky scary exams coming up?”

“Us?”

His friend waves a hand. “We always have exams; that doesn’t count. And it’s the first years, of course – do you live under a rock?”

Shiro blinks, a stray neuron in the recesses of his brain noting that _oh, Keith is a first year._ “Good luck to them, I suppose.”

“Psh, they don’t need the luck. _We_ do. Anyway, I can’t wait to see them shrivel up from stress and all that good crap.”

Shiro supposes there is some satisfaction to be had from seeing the overconfident and loud first-years taken down a notch, but not enough for his countenance to be positively glowing with malice. He looks at his friend in mild concern.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to see them join our depressed masses … And, oi, chef – mozzarella and parmesan, yeah? Not that gross sliced crap.” 

At that, Shiro gets up from his seat to blithely swing the door open and look around, finding the corridor devoid of anyone vaguely threatening.

“The coast – _is clear_!” He calls, for Ryan to scuttle out from under his desk, and smack him upside the head before leaving.

“Thanks for nothing, man. Where’s the fries at?”

Shiro shuts the door in his face.

\-----

Maybe it’s a sign of just how much of a deadened husk of a man constant assessments are leaving Shiro, because he only remembers that the first-year examinations are a thing when he catches sight of Keith nose-deep in a flight manual. He drops his fork into his lasagne.

Keith studying is rare enough an event in itself, but when there’s a half-eaten plate of food beside him and a fork held half-way to his mouth, Shiro has to rub his eyes and blink furiously at the sight in front of him (or at least, diagonally across the mess hall from him).

Matt is doing the same nose-in-book thing beside him, but that’s just the kind of thing Shiro would expect from him. Not from Keith.

Keith’s eyes momentarily dart away from the page in front of him long enough for a forkful of lasagne to safely manoeuvre its way into his mouth before he’s sucked back in, as though reading a thrilling novel and not the worst physics-related book Shiro has ever touched.

… Maybe there’s just another cadet with the same hairstyle as Keith (his features are slightly obscured by the mess on his head, as usual), Shiro thinks to himself. It’s a more plausible conclusion.

And when Keith shows up twenty minutes early to their next flight sim session, sitting and waiting for him, Shiro reasons that maybe he’d simply had nothing better to do. He tries not to flinch when Keith leaps up at the sight of him and wordlessly thrusts a marked-up question paper towards him.

“Uh. Good evening to you too?”

“I don’t get it.” Keith snaps.

Sighing, Shiro takes the paper, glancing down at whatever question Keith’s completely butchered and deciding not to question his strange behaviour. After all, he looks sullen and irritated enough without Shiro’s interrogating.

“You mean this question?” He points at the one most littered with angry crosses and underlines.

“Mm.”

To be fair, it’s a difficult question, one that takes Shiro’s post-dinner brain a few moments to comprehend. Keith nods silently as he explains it, hesitantly writing down the answer before stowing the paper away and legging it to the simulator, barricading himself inside before Shiro can follow.

… 

He supposes he has things to do other than watch Keith fly, anyway.

Despite the obstinate way Keith is deciding to ignore him, Shiro gets a word in when he tries to fussily strut out of the door without a second glance.

“How’s preparing for your exams going? I heard they’re coming up.”

Keith turns to neutrally look at him. “Fine.”

“Y’know, I’m sorry for making you angry but –”

“I’m not angry!” Keith interjects, looking for the first time that evening something other than resentful.

Shiro shrugs defensively. “O-kay. Well, there’s no point in being angry just because you don’t always get what you want … And you should try communicating. Better.” He trails off when Keith growls in annoyance and mutters incoherently under his breath.

“Sorry?” Shiro asks.

“I said I never get what I want! And I already tried…”

He ignores the self-pitying act, instead recalling Keith’s earlier attempt at communication and feeling a pang of second-hand embarrassment.

“It doesn’t hurt to try again? I suppose.”

Keith blinks at his suggestion. “Whatever. S’not like you wanna listen anyway. And I have to go _study_.” He snipes, disappearing out the door.

And once again, Shiro is left to feel a little like he’s somehow at fault, just because he rejected Keith’s mangled confession. 

On the other side of the doorway, Keith releases a strangled breath, walking away with thoughts a scramble and trying to focus on what Shiro had explained to him prior. This exam is going to be the only way to prove himself, and the fact that there’s a flight sim practical included doesn’t hurt. Even if no one’s praising him for his efforts in-class or giving him their time of day (an image of Shiro pops up, unbidden), he can still use this sim time to try and improve, somehow.

\-----

Keith falls asleep in the middle of the bed, face pressed to textbook. His roommate gives him a funny look when he wakes up with a confused groan. The words are swimming around in his head, half of them an incomprehensible mess, but he’s got to make an effort, right?

During lunch, he can feel Shiro’s eyes on him while he precariously steers mouthfuls of food from plate to mouth and smiles to himself. Keith slaps himself for thinking he can daydream about Shiro, study, and eat at the same time.

\-----

Two weeks later, and Keith comes to the conclusion that working himself to the bone hadn’t made much difference to his grades and that maybe academia isn’t really his thing. He manages to scrape a pass in every subject, at least.

The flight simulator scores are soon released, and Keith’s jaw hangs open when he checks his result. And then double-checks it. It doesn’t take a genius to realise that he’s beat all of his previous scores, and the instructor makes sure to tell him so, clasping a congratulatory hand to his shoulder. Keith staggers in surprise.

His classmates don’t seem to be as encouraging, shooting him the occasional nasty look. Just because he got top of the class. He pays them no mind, buoyantly running off to find Shiro the first chance he gets, tugging him into a corner and standing on excitable tippy-toes as he tries not to gargle the words issuing from his mouth.

“Did you hear – did you hear! I got the best score for the flight sim.” Keith thrusts a virtual copy of his results at Shiro, waiting excitedly for his verdict.

To his surprise, Shiro lights up. “Woah, forreal? I think you just set a new record; you got higher than my first year score.”

Keith gapes, dumbstruck. “Really?”

“Pret-ty sure.” Shiro nods, and Keith beams, happier than he’d been a split second ago. A small voice in the back of his head tells him that a potential response to this is to give Shiro a celebratory hug, but he shushes it.

Instead, he continues to stare dumbly at Shiro and at the series of numbers on his tablet.

“Then, then – we’re finally equal, right?”

Shiro blinks. “What?”

“You can’t treat me like a child anymore. ‘Cause I did better than you.”

“I don’t –”

Keith narrows his eyes. “Hmm. _Anyway_ , then c-can, can –” He coughs, voice shrivelling up in his throat. “Can we be mates…”

“Just platonic!” He adds in a squeak when Shiro stares at him. The conversation grinds to a silent halt for a few moments as they both stare at each other, Keith furiously blinking and wishing he could cut his tongue out.

Shiro speaks up after a moment. “Um, Keith. I get why this might seem really important to you right now, but you don’t _need_ a mate. It’s not _essential_ , and at your age … and, uh, just because I’m the only alpha in your life right now…”

Keith frowns. Hadn’t the whole successfully-passing exams thing been enough? He thought Shiro had wanted him to be more proactive with his studies in the first place.

“But – but –” he stammers, darting nervous looks at the people passing by in the corridor beside them.

Shiro watches him with an inscrutable expression, finally speaking when Keith struggles to get another word out.

“I’m … flattered, but, um, maybe you should think things through? I’m okay with us being friends, but – ah – I don’t think anything more than that is. Suitable.”

“Oh. Fine. Whatever.” Keith awkwardly picks at his nails and refuses to look Shiro in the eye.

Shiro coughs. “Anyway, congratulations on the flight sim record. I’m glad to see the extra practise is paying off.”

Keith nods stiffly, regretting his habit of impulsively blurting out any- and everything as he turns to leave.

He supposes he’ll take Shiro up on that offer of friendship. It’s something, at least.

\-----

At this point, it’s second nature for Keith to fall into yet another depressive sulk and blatantly ignore Shiro, but he finds himself turning up in front of Shiro’s room, against his own will. (He’s not in his office on weekends. And Keith might have been willing to make this trip. Maybe.)

He ducks inside when Shiro opens the door.

“Hey, Keith. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Not really.” He sits down on the couch, tucking his legs under him and leaning against the armrest. “It’s just everyone’s being an absolute _bitch_.”

“Uhuh?” Shiro looks at him, and then back at the TV.

“About the flight sim record thing…” A scowl forms on Keith’s face just at the thought. “They think I cheated?!”

“Why would they think that?” Shiro asks. “And who’s ‘they’?”

“The cadets, obviously. Some stupid shit about how I’m an omega. And how you’ve been the Garrison’s golden boy since forever.” Keith mutters, thinking. 

No one had made a big deal, not until the instructor decided it was alright to remind the class more than once of Keith’s achievement, each time leaving him the centre of (unwanted) attention and jealous looks. And then one faceless classmate had spoken up, saying something nasty and barbed about the help he’s getting from Shiro. 

“They’re just jealous, right? Don’t mind them.”

“And they don’t like how I get to train with you.”

At that, Shiro coughs. “Ah. Um.”

Ignoring Shiro’s palpable discomfort, Keith lets out an audible huff, shifting so that he’s lying sideways, head on armrest and feet dangerously close to Shiro’s lap. He’s felt hunted and cornered since today’s class in the flight sim (accusing gazes seem to follow wherever he goes), which calls for a little angsty brooding.

“Why do they all hate me?” he whines, turning to look at Shiro who regards him with a quirked eyebrow.

“I’m sure they don’t.” Shiro says in a no-nonsense voice. “Just jealous. It’s completely understandable why they’re acting hostile. You could try making more friends so they know you’re approachable?”

Keith tunes him out.

\-----

Shiro supposes he should offer some words of comfort to the distraught omega on his couch (Keith grumbles wordlessly to himself the entire time he’s sulking) or else kick him out before the atmosphere gets awkward. But then Keith excuses himself to the shower and then to bed, muttering something about needing some TLC and Shiro can only blink in surprise.

“Um, Keith,” he calls towards the recesses of his bedroom, “If you don’t want people misjudging our relationship, you better step back out here right now!”

There’s no response.

If Shiro had felt uncomfortable about Keith nesting in his bed before, the feeling is now three-fold. He cautiously steps into his bedroom to be greeted with the now-familiar sight of a contented lump passed-out in the middle of his bed, unresponsive to any hissed threats.

“Keith…”

\-----

Surprisingly, Shiro isn’t kept awake by the inappropriateness of the whole situation or the resultant guilt. Keith unconsciously attaches himself to his torso and Shiro smoothes a weary hand over damp hair, falling asleep while reminding himself of the very _platonic_ rapport that has built up between them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: thanks to jibbly for [art](http://jibblyart.tumblr.com/post/159779999771/this-slow-burn-is-killing-me-in-the-midst-of-a) to go with this chapter <3 <3 <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith tries to Cope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay im back from the dead heres a slightly longer chapter (5000 instead of the usual 4000 lmao)
> 
> jibblyart drew [art](http://jibblyart.tumblr.com/post/159779999771/this-slow-burn-is-killing-me-in-the-midst-of-a) for the last chapter pls go check that out if u havent already seen!!

Shiro wakes a few moments before his alarm sounds and blinks wearily at the shadowed interior of his room. Keith, unfortunately, is still firmly attached to his side, not having rolled off in the night or let go. Shiro thinks about pushing him off until he sees the placid-looking expression on Keith’s face and feels a pang somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

His alarm rings shrill and incessant without warning and Shiro raises a tired hand to rub at his face. Not his right, because Keith is currently draped over it. Keith squirms as Shiro fumbles to shut the alarm off, opening his eyes and staring blankly at him with an uncharacteristically open and childlike gaze. Shiro nearly admits defeat like a weaker man when Keith settles back down to fall quietly into slumber.

“Keith!” He hisses after deliberating whether or not to just give up on the push-ups for today, “I need to get up.”

He doesn’t expect a proper response and is readying himself for an impromptu bit of tug-of-war (to extricate himself from Keith’s clingy embrace) when a few mumbled words vibrate through his shoulder.

“…don’t leave…”

Shiro wants to cry. In frustration, more than anything. Trust Keith to play with his emotions so easily even when he’s half asleep.

“I’m not going to leave you forever,” he mutters in response. “I just have to get up.”

Keith huffs, grip tightening, and it takes a few shakes of Shiro’s arm to dislodge him. He slumps across the bed with an audible exhale and Shiro, without hesitating, throws the blanket over his curled form. He doesn’t need the distractions, not when there’s a dozen sets of push-ups to be doing. Especially since Shiro’s sappy side can’t help but notice the content and satisfied smile on Keith’s face, lit up by the morning light and now smothered by the blanket. He hasn’t looked that happy for a good while, no doubt in part due to Shiro’s present reluctance to spoil Keith.

Hence the blanket. Shiro feels very manipulated.

\-----

A short distance away, Keith snoozes on, arms and legs bundling up the duvet until he’s bodily wrapped around it. He dreams of indistinct shapes and blurred faces, partly aware of how Shiro’s trying to shake him awake and decidedly ignoring him.

“ _-th!_ Do you want breakfast or _not?_ ”

Hmm. Breakfast. Keith struggles to open his eyes, blinking in the direction of Shiro’s voice and frowning at his sweat-mussed hair.

“Why do you look sweaty?” he croaks out.

“Exercise. You should try it.”

Keith closes his eyes again, to Shiro’s frustration.

“Get out of my bed? Please?”

“But I was having a crisis and feeling miserable,” Keith mumbles thickly, irritation already returning. Suddenly, flight sim lessons don’t appear as attractive, not when his classmates all seem desperate to prove he somehow cheated. Even though he clearly didn’t – the instructor had been noting his progress for weeks, but somehow bringing _Takashi Shirogane’s record_ into the mix made it unbelievable. Keith fumes at the thought.

“I guess…” Shiro replies, “but spooning my duvet isn’t going to solve your problems.”

Keith snaps upright. “I wasn’t!” He pulls at the messy bits of hair framing his face as Shiro raises a sceptical eyebrow and saunters off. 

He does eventually get out of bed, half-awake and dragging his feet along the floor, but it’s a sudden forceful collision with Shiro’s chest that wakes him fully.

“Oh, sorry.” Shiro gently shoulders his way past Keith, behind him the remnants of a steamed-up bathroom. Keith rubs the grime out of his eyes, blinking in confusion as his thoughts try to rearrange themselves after the violent jolt.

He hadn’t been fully aware (or at least chosen not to be) of the height difference between them, but smashing the bridge of his nose into Shiro’s sternum makes him realise just how small and insignificant he looks in comparison. No wonder Shiro doesn’t take him seriously.

Hindsight is often a good reality check, but Keith stubbornly refuses to address whatever had happened between them yesterday. He can just try again. Sometime in the near future.

For now, there’s just an entire class of cadets to practise his best scowl at and Shiro’s rumoured omega friend to also intimidate.

\-----

His day of lessons doesn’t go as smoothly as he would like, and by that Keith means he’s had to interact with more than his textbook and tablet throughout the day. His vantage point from the back of the class is usually undisturbed, but now he has to deal with expectant lecturers and stink-eyed classmates picking on him.

“Keith!” Doctor Henderson calls out his name for the second time in the hour-long lesson (and in the school year so far), “Can you come up and explain how to solve this problem?”

Keith sighs and mutely shakes his head, but stands up anyway. Physics isn’t his forte and he’d barely scraped a pass, but for some reason the instructors have taken his one success and suddenly remembered that he’s an existing student in their classes. He wistfully thinks back to his days of semi-anonymity and undisturbed doodling at the back of the classroom.

Unsurprisingly, his attempt at physics results in a completely incorrect answer and leaves half the class smirking at his supposedly-embarrassing mistake. Keith doesn’t even know what he did wrong.

“So, you can see here –” Henderson points to a line of his messy scrawl on the interactive board and Keith tunes her out, fuming.

Iverson isn’t any better, choosing him for one of the demonstrations despite having subtly ignored him for weeks on end for being an omega. And Eyebrows in his class has the audacity to ask, once they’re dismissed:

“Is it true you’re getting _daily_ private lessons from Takashi Shirogane?”

Keith slowly shakes his head. They’re not daily, that’s for sure. He attempts to walk away before prying brown eyes (and sniffer hound nose?) can figure out anything else about his personal life.

“Hey! Then is it true that you rigged the system before finals?”

His voice is loud and obnoxious and grating and Keith spins around with an angry snarl, teeth bared. And of course all dozen of the remaining people hear his words, now looking at Keith with various expressions of curiosity and loathing suspicion.

He grabs Eyebrows’ collar before the other cadet can take a cautious step back at his furious expression, tugging him closer.

“I didn’t _rig_ the fucking exams – you _can’t_ rig them. And I wouldn’t need to rig them to pass, unlike you.”

Keith wants to throw a punch for added effect (and because he’s feeling in a violent mood), but Shiro’s voice somewhere in his head reminds him that that probably isn’t a good idea, even if he currently is sort-of star pupil.

Eyebrows steps back when he lets go, hand raised in surrender. “Hey, no need to get all sweary on me. What’s a harmless joke between rivals?”

Keith doesn’t understand a single word he says. _Harmless joke, his ass._

\-----

Afternoon considerably ruined, Keith opts to take a self-pitying break instead of getting any homework done like the ace student his instructors want him to be. The gym is occupied when he walks in, and Keith has half a mind to walk back out again. But his pent-up anger has to go _somewhere_ , and if not driving down sheer cliffs and punching a hole through his bedroom wall, then the gym is his next best option. For some reason, Keith thinks the former few options wouldn’t resonate well with Shiro, especially with how reluctant the mature, adult _man_ is to treat him as equals.

Keith blindly scowls at the punching bag in front of him, glad, at least, that no one tries to talk to him. (The one older cadet that asks him if he’s the first year whiz kid in league with Shirogane doesn’t count, because Keith ignores him.)

He uses the same tactic in class the next day, when one of Shiro’s many admirers (Keith thinks about how many he’d get in a crowd of omegas) approaches where he’s hunched over his desk and trying to become part of the woodwork.

“How are _you_ getting Shirogane’s attention? Is it because you’re an _omega_?” The word is tinged with loathing and Keith declines to look up from his mindless doodling.

She doesn’t take very kindly to his silence, looking at him with a disgusted huff before stomping away to join her friends and shoot him barbed glares throughout the lesson.

No one’s physically beaten him up for his rudeness, though (Keith thinks back to primary school), so he continues to block out everything around him, retreating to the safety of his room the first opportunity he gets.

It isn’t until that he’s burrowed into his bed and strategically walled off his roommate with a chair, his bag, and some textbooks that he allows the tics in his eyelids and sandpapery feeling welling up in his throat to manifest itself into a choked-off scream as he claws at the blankets around him and tugs them closer to his chest.

His roommate is probably looking at him funny, but Keith just ignores it for the screeching headache in his skull and the rhythmic vibrations that reverberate with each violent thump of leg on bed.

“Can you shut the fuck up?” Tom snaps. “If you’re going to have a mental breakdown, then do it outside.”

He doesn’t shut up. His roommate probably has some choice swear words for him but Keith can’t hear a thing. Though he _can_ feel the hard and bulky something that hits him in the middle of his spine. He stills with a sudden yelp of pain and pokes a disgruntled head out to see one of his own textbooks lying innocently beside him and his roommate silently doing his own thing on the other side of their shared room.

Keith _would_ take it as a cue to start an all-out war, but the headache still hasn’t gone away. He retreats into the comfort of his bed and imagines not having to step back out into the real world for another decade or two.

\-----

Despite what Keith had told him and the gossip that spreads around, Shiro doesn’t hear another thing about any Keith-related accusations. The news about his achievement had gotten out, sure, but aside from a few of Shiro’s friends elbowing him and smirking about his lost record, no one had made a big deal. Definitely nothing about him being in supposed cahoots with Keith.

Until one loud-mouthed first year whose face is vaguely familiar runs up to him with eyes wide and arms aflap. Shiro pauses in the corridor and wordlessly urges his friends to go on without him, just to prevent them from recording the entire encounter and embarrassing him about his supposed fame. The gaggle of girls who peek at him around corners are already bad enough, especially after his friends latched on to what they were doing.

“ – Shirogane! Takashi Shirogane?”

Shiro takes a hesitant step back. Too much enthusiasm for so early in the day. “Uh – just Shiro is fine.” Even if he _is_ an officer a step above the regular cadets, he’s not too dissimilar in age, and being called ‘Officer’ is just plain weird.

“Okay! Shiro! I’m Lance. Álvarez. Lance uh –” He gesticulates violently at himself and Shiro nods in cautious acknowledgement. “Anyway, I really admire your flying skills and now that mullet kid got you beat? Did you teach him or what…”

Shiro blinks. It takes him a split second to connect Keith to ‘mullet kid’. “You mean Ke – Cadet Geum? I didn’t teach him much; he was talented to begin with.” _Poor excuse for how many hours you spent in that sim room with him_ , Shiro reminds himself with a guilty pang. Well, it’s not like he’s abusing his officer privileges just for Keith – they’re _friends_. 

Lance doesn’t look very satisfied with his answer. “Hm. So he _wasn’t_ getting extra lessons? That’s better I guess – if he cheated just to beat me…?!”

Shiro, eloquent as ever (he can usually scrounge up something to say for speeches, though it takes a lot of effort), nods and coughs. “I’m sure Cadet Geum completed his examinations honestly. And – uh – if that’s all…”

“So it’s not possible to get sim lessons from you, then?” Lance mumbles more than asks, and Shiro shakes his head stiffly.

“Sorry. But if you’re having issues you can always ask your instructor for help. I’m not exactly qualified –”

“Even if you’re the best pilot in a generation?”

Not exactly qualified to _teach_ , Shiro thinks, but instead bids Lance a hasty goodbye, escaping before he can feel any more awkward and put on-the-spot. He knows people have definitely seen him and Keith occasionally sparring in the gym, but the flight sim room is private, accessible only to those who’ve booked it.

And thank god for that, because apparently Keith’s classmates don’t take well to the outcast of the class getting an advantage. Shiro has to agree, but a part of him is biased towards Keith – there’s no denying it. Well, he’s only been a flight officer for less than a year so … to how high a standard can they hold him? As long as none of the instructors protest, Keith and their current arrangement should be fine.

\-----

Keith, unfortunately, _isn’t_ fine with it. At least not with how the other cadets are treating the situation. Not with the sudden negative attention, not with the sarcastic remarks (that he fails to comprehend), and definitely not with the instructors trying to talk to him. Keith recounts a particularly harrowing encounter while Shiro wonders just how beneficial beating that record was. It’ll pave the way for his future, but the furrow in his brow isn’t disappearing anytime soon – despite being sat in the flight sim. Keith chooses a lower-level difficulty simulation, as though too tired to even try.

“-and he just pulled this sudden quiz out of nowhere as though anyone even remembers any of the past material, and then marked my answers out loud in front of the class like I was gonna get a hundred percent or something?! It’s not my fault I can’t remember shit –” he trails off, before resuming his train of thought, “-and he called me out for my doodling as if I’d not been doing that since day one –”

Shiro wordlessly nudges the ship in the right direction when Keith’s angry grip on the controls has them veering too far off course. He stays silent, because Keith sounds like he has a lot of pent-up rage to get out in one go.

“It’s like – it’s like, I dunno, they’re finding it funny an omega can actually do something and be good at it, so now they wanna see just how shit I am at everything else…” Keith mutters, throttling the controls with whitened knuckles. 

He lets go of them just as Shiro starts to fear for both Keith’s fingers and the poor controls in his grip, letting out a massive sigh and leaning back in his seat to tiredly watch the projection in front of them slow to a smooth glide, the ‘ship’ now propelled only by its lingering momentum. 

“Do you want to stop the sim for now? We can talk outside, or in my room –”

Keith shakes his head no but doesn’t make a move to regain control of the drifting ship. Shiro decides to reach over and shut down the sim anyway, noting out of the corner of his eye the passively empty stare Keith directs at the screen he’s fumbling with. Maybe there’s some remaining sachets of hot chocolate up in his room … Shiro shouldn’t be coddling him, but just this once…

Keith follows him to his room despite the stream of tired grumbling leaking from his mouth. Shiro ignores him, too busy keeping a paranoid eye out for anyone in the corridors watching the two of them. Until Keith asks a question that sends a guilty tremor through his chest.

“Are we not gonna do extra sim runs now? Since it’s cheating and all?”

“No!” Keith blinks at his sudden emphatic reply. “No, of course not – Commander Iverson agreed to it from the beginning, and since you have such a skill and interest, it’s only right to give you more opportunities to improve.”

Shiro nearly convinces himself with that, forcibly forgetting any unknown first years who might accuse them otherwise. And Keith seems swayed too, nodding slowly to himself.

“I guess. If Iverson says so…”

Keith immediately settles himself on the couch as Shiro searches for hot chocolate (it’s hiding somewhere in his tiny room, but he’s not certain where) and a source of hot water (the portable electric kettle on his desk). The kettle is a strange addition to his workspace, something his mum had insisted on him bringing along as though he was now living by himself. At least she’d kept the portable stove to herself, because Shiro firmly reminded her enough times that the Garrison comes with a perfectly functioning mess hall, and _no_ , he won’t be living off instant noodles because there’s nothing else to eat. To be fair, the kettle has come into use, especially for those coffee cravings that hit him near-midnight.

Keith doesn’t turn his nose up at the chocolaty offering, thankfully, silently sipping at the mug with feet tucked under him and defensively curled shoulders as Shiro sits down beside him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Hm.” Keith doesn’t say another word until half the mug is gone and his cheeks a warm red from the heat. “I don’t like all the stupid attention – the whole omega thing was bad enough, and now _this_?”

“Are people being stupidly mean?”

Keith stares into the depths of his instant chocolate as though it holds the answers to Shiro’s simple question before nodding.

“Yeah. Thought it was already shit before but now _everyone’s_ angry? The instructors ‘cos I still can’t do anything properly and everyone else because … I dunno.”

He takes a gulp of piping hot chocolate as Shiro winces for his taste buds.

“I guess it’s not exactly your fault if the instructors want you to suddenly become their best student…”

Keith nods vehemently into his mug. “It’s not my fault at all.”

“And is it possible to just ignore whoever’s being rude to you?”

“They’re all so _loud_ about it though. And all up in my face.”

Shiro hums, wracking his brain for something helpful to say other than _don’t worry, they’re just jealous_. Which isn’t solving the problem at all.

“Are they being violent about it?” Setting Keith on them with his wildly swinging fists and tendency to bite (probably – Keith looks like the type to fight dirty) could get everyone back off, but Shiro’s trying to be the responsible adult here.

“Nah.”

“I guess you should just ignore them, then. Count down from a thousand in your head or something – it helps to distract from stressful stuff. I suppose.” Shiro doubts being a therapist is going to be a viable career option for him. Especially when he sees the dismissive shrug Keith gives him.

“You sure? What’s some numbers going to do against those jerks?” 

It’s Shiro’s turn to shrug. “Say what you want, but it works for me when things get overwhelming.”

Keith’s slouch suddenly straightens out as he snaps his head around to watch Shiro with curious eyes. “What kind of overwhelming? Why would _you_ need to do that?”

Shiro frowns. “What are you trying to say? I’m not some kind of super perfect deity-thing. I mean, who _doesn’t_ get a healthy dose of anxiety from time to time?”

Keith blinks at his joke, Shiro’s actual meaning probably flying over his head. “It’s not healthy, is it?”

“Yeah, no, of course not. And anyway, I think you should just try ignoring and focusing on something else. Bullies just want a negative reaction out of you.”

“Hmm.”

Keith gulps down the rest of the cooling chocolate and sets the mug aside. It had helped with uncoiling the tight knot in his belly and Keith utters a brief word of thanks even though Shiro’s understanding gaze and acknowledging nod make him feel a little uncomfortable. 

He’s now calm enough to listen to Shiro instead of snapping back, which is probably a good idea if he wants Shiro’s helpful guidance. Keith settles against the cushy fabric of the couch, tucking sharp elbows against his sides and thinking about what Shiro had just said.

“But…they’re not going to stop saying stuff just because I ignored them.” Maybe Keith will take to living in self-imposed isolation juggling two jobs out in the scorching desert again. Even if there’s the whole matter of trying to become a pilot in the future.

Keith’s not one to just give up, of course…

“There’s no point in letting them ruin your education just because of a little jealousy or something.” Shiro shrugs. “Try and focus on other things. Like, um, I dunno – what the instructor’s saying?”

Keith rolls his eyes. Shouldn’t it be obvious by now that focusing isn’t his forte? But Shiro’s words do make some sense.

“I guess…”

Shiro looks visibly relieved. “That’s good – it’d be kinda stupid to let this affect you so much.”

Keith twitches at the word ‘stupid’ and Shiro hastily adds with a slanting grin: “And just think of how angry everyone will be if you get promoted to flight officer in a year or two.”

“Oh.” _Oh._ That _does_ sound good to Keith. He imagines not having to attend classes with the same lot of cadets year after year. “But how much work do I have to do to get to be an officer?”

“Um.” Shiro looks stumped. “Quite a bit?”

“Hmph.” Keith supposes he’ll have to find another source of spite to fuel his way through education. In primary, punching kids who didn’t like him had been the main way of staying sane, but somehow Keith thinks that’s going to be frowned upon in his current situation.

Maybe the entire omega farce, he thinks. The looks on his classmates’ faces _would be_ pretty satisfying if it was anger at an omega being better than them, but the barbed remarks are an unwanted addition. 

He tells Shiro accordingly, and to his surprise, the other teen grins. “That’s a good idea! Get them to regret ever looking down on you being an omega.”

“Yeah. I s’pose.”

“Not that I’m encouraging you to do things only because of hate or anything.” Shiro fidgets next to him, letting out an awkward laugh. “Just don’t let it get to you, yeah? I don’t like seeing you down. Especially after that superb record.”

Keith sits up at his words. Had Shiro really been thinking these thoughts the whole time? 

“Oh. Then … sorry? I guess…”

“What? No, you don’t have to apologise – if anything, I should say sorry for drawing so much attention to you with the training and all…”

“Oh – no, I like the training,” Keith admits. “Can we keep doing the sim sessions?”

Shiro agrees with a reassuring expression, and despite the fact that they haven’t exactly solved the problem (zero cadets have been expelled nor any irritating instructors been given a word of warning), Keith feels calmer than he has in days, already looking forward to the next time he’ll be seeing Shiro.

\-----

Keith puts his new strategy of aggressive ignorance to the test almost immediately, his mind humming a tuneless melody as he doodles before the start of class, deaf to the hurtful voices and looks directed at him. In fact, if he arranges his fringe _just so_ , it becomes a handy curtain to block out the stupid faces of his classmates. Or Keith could just collapse face-down on his desk, if class hadn’t just started.

Luckily, fewer instructors call out his name, finally realising he rarely has anything useful to contribute to the lessons. He strong-arms his way through the day, then the next and the ones after that, the job down at the shop a nice distraction from reality (the desert swallows all sight and sound of the Garrison) even if his employer is still a little slimy. 

And the wind rushing over his bike (and him) doesn’t hurt, not when he accelerates to a speed that feels like he could take off into the sky and watch the land below fade away.

Even better is seeing Shiro’s face a few days later when he completes a sim run to the best of his ability, which turns out to be _pretty_ good.

“Haha – is the advice helping?”

“More like I want to watch them eat their words, but sure.”

Shiro snorts in amusement. “Well, good luck with that.”

\-----

Just when Keith thought most of his dilemmas had been solved (only the one, to be fair, and he’s just avoiding the problem. But it works), a sudden, unexpected something throws itself in his face. He asks an offhanded ‘why’ when Shiro explains how he’ll be skipping one of the upcoming training sessions, expecting to hear about yet another supremely important Kerberos assignment or something of the like.

Shiro pauses with an awkward look. “Oh – it’s just a small thing for my nineteenth. Just going out for a bit.”

Keith blinks. “Nineteenth what?” he asks before even fully comprehending what Shiro had just said.

Shiro blinks back at him, not expecting the sudden question. “Birthday. Nineteenth birthday.”

Suddenly, Keith feels like an idiot for even asking. “Oh. Yeah, of course. Birthday.” He furrows his brow, trying to figure the exact date of the session Shiro’s cancelled on. “When’s your birthday?”

“Twenty ninth.”

“Oh.” Keith’s jaw hangs slightly open. Just slightly. “I haven’t met someone with a birthday on February twenty-ninth.”

“Well … now you have.”

Keith nods stiffly, wracking his brains in a panic to remember what exactly had made _his_ birthday so great. Cake? Bed privileges? Probably not a suitable present for Shiro, even if Keith isn’t well-versed in the art of purchasing gifts.

Shiro is quick to change the subject, but Keith continues to think up possible presents, uncertain about how he’s supposed to give anything to Shiro without it looking overly awkward or like a generic offering from his admirers.

The latest gadgets his classmates enjoy raving about are … ridiculously expensive. Clothes? He doesn’t know where to begin – Keith’s only ever seen Shiro in perhaps two outfits aside from his uniform. Food: probably a safer option. Maybe he could buy a cake and somehow smuggle it into the Garrison unseen.

The twenty-eighth ticks closer and closer until he realises he only has two days left to scrounge up something – or else give his present late.

He stumbles on _it_ entirely by accident, the result of a lazy stroll through the quiet aisles of the second-hand store once his shift is over. The silvery reflective shine is what catches his eye, a thin thread of light on some kind of decorative plate that reveals itself, upon closer inspection, to be a delicate bracelet.

Keith is about to sneer and cast it aside when he notices the series of silver-and-enamel charms dangling from the fine metal chain – planets. He can spot a flat rendition of Jupiter, Saturn, Earth, and … no Pluto and accompanying moons, unfortunately. Maybe one of the scuffed metal circles is Pluto, he imagines. It doesn’t take a lot of further deliberation on his part before the bracelet is sat in his palm and thrust at the storekeeper. His purchase is wrapped in a small paper envelope, and the present is then tucked carefully inside his jacket.

Keith tries not to constantly check if it’s still there on his way back to the Garrison. He wouldn’t want the package to blow away in the wind.

In his excitement, he nearly makes a beeline for Shiro’s room, before reminding himself that it’s not yet the twenty-eighth and that he should write a card first, at least.

\-----

The day of Shiro’s birthday (well, not exactly his birthday) sees Keith nervously eyeing Shiro in the mess hall, regretful he hadn’t caught him on the way in. Maybe he can wait ‘til breakfast is over…

Shiro definitely notices him leaping upright right as Shiro himself leaves his table, but Keith tries not to be embarrassed, slowing his steps so as to bump into the other teen while exiting the hall.

“Uh – Shiro?”

Shiro follows him a few steps away from the crowd by the mess hall when he sees the wordless plea in Keith’s eyes.

“Hey –”

“Um – ” Keith interrupts, fumbling to get ahold of the now-wrinkled envelope and its contents out of his jacket before presenting Shiro with the small package. “Um. Happy birthday?”

It looks more like a sad scrap of paper than a real present, but Shiro beams regardless, taking the gift and appreciatively rumpling Keith’s mop of hair.

“Thanks! Do you want me to open it now, or –”

Keith startles. “Oh, uh – no, I’ve got a lesson to –” He runs off without another word, hoping his gift won’t be too pathetic compared to everything else Shiro will be receiving.

\-----

Shiro doesn’t get back to him about the present until a day later, too busy with his _actual_ birthday celebrations. If Keith worries his nails down to the quick as a result, it’s none of Shiro’s business.

He tries not to stare at Shiro’s wrists when he enters the room until the birthday boy himself raises an arm to show him.

“Hey, thanks for the present and the card – that was really nice of you. I don’t usually get jewellery for my presents, so this is pretty special.”

Keith balks even while he admits how … _decent_ the bracelet looks on Shiro. 

“Don’t worry, I like it,” Shiro reassures, and Keith nods tentatively. 

That’s a good sign, he supposes.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :3  
> comments r very appreciated and make my day c:  
> \---  
> @swummeng-geys.tumblr.com


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